\ 

COL.  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  FLOWERS 
MEMORIAL  COLLECTION 


DUKE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
DURHAM,  N.  C. 


PRESENTED  BY 

W.  W.  FLOWERS 


SMITH  AND  POCAHONTAS. 


a  w ®mm 


Ry  J.  H.  MARTIN. 


RICHMOND: 

WEST  &  JOHNSTON,  PUBLISHERS,  145  MAIN  STREET 
1862. 


Entered,  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1862,  by 

WEST  &  JOHNSTON, 

In  the  District  Court  of  the  Confederate  States  for  the 

Eastern  District  of  Virginia. 

Macfarlane  &  Fergusson;  Printers;  corner  Bank  and  12th  stg/ 


THE  FLOWERS  COLLECTION 


NOTE. 

The  following  Poem,  except  a  few  lines  more  re 
gently  added,  was  written  about  six  y^ars  ago.  The 
author  is  still  doubtful  whether  it  possesses  sufficient 
merit  to  secure  for  it  a  favourable  reoeption.  lie 
commits  it  to  the  public,  however,  with  the  hope 
that  it  may  find  favour  in  the  eyes  of  many,  who 
will  share  in  his  enthusiastic  admiration  of  the  hen 
.-and  principal  character  of  the  work. 


2962: 


a_    poem:. 


CANTO   I. 


Spirit  op  Poesy,  come  to  mc, 
A  welcome  warm  I'll  give  to  thee, — 
My  heart  I'll  freely  open  wide, 
And  wed  thee  as  a  bonny  bride, — 
Come,  gentle,  lovely  spirit,  come, 
And  deign  with  mc  to  make  thy  home. 

Around  me  throw  thy  magic  spell, 
An  inmate  of  my  bosom  dwell, 
Become  to  me  a  second  sight, 
All  things  revealing  in  new  light, 
And  where,  without  thee,  nought  I  sec, 
A  world  of  wonders  shew  to  me. 

Now  as  I  muse  and  ponder  o'er 
The  glorious  names  and  deeds  of  yore, 
Remove  the  veil  from  off  my  eyes, 
Let  visions  bright  before  mc  ria 
And  aid  me  while  entranced  I  gU6j 
To  sing  the  scenes  of  other  days. 


296295 


A    POEM. 

Be  beauty,  war.  and  love  my  theme ; 
Of  Pocahontas  let  me  dream; 
Let  gallant  Smith,  that  soul  of  fire, 
With  glowing  flame  my  breast  inspire, 
And  as  my  numbers  flow  along, 
Let  others  help  to  swell  the  song. 

Let  venal  poets  write  for  pay, 
Be  mine  no  mercenary  lay. 
The  hero's  fame,  the  Indian's  love, 
Alone  my  heart  and  pen  shall  move, 
And,  careless  of  base,  paltry  gold, 
I'll  seek  their  story  to  unfold. 

High  on  the  roll  of  men  renowned,. 
Who  had  their  birth  on  English  ground. 
The  name  of  Smith  shall  ever  stand, 
An  honour  to  his  native  land. 
Not  Arthur,  Alfred,  the  Black  Prinee> 
Nor  any  who  have  flourished  since, 
Not  Richard  of  the  Lion- Heart, 
Performed  a  more  romantic  part. 
In  him  Adventure,  Chivalry, 
"With  Courage,  Magnanimity, 
And  all  that's  elevated,  bold, 
Their  kingly  seat  and  throne  did  hold. 
A  true  knight-errant  born  was  he, 
A  wanderer  o'er  the  earth  and  sea  ; 
The  world  at  large  he  viewed  his  home, 
Through  which  he  fondly  loved  to  roam : 


A    POEM. 

Four  quarters  of  the  globe  became 

Theatre  of  his  deeds  of  fame. 

In  Europe  was  his  lot  first  cast, 

In  Europe  did  he  breathe  his  last ; 

But  Africa  and  Asia  grew 

In  part  familiar  to  his  view. 

The  Western  world  his  footsteps  bore 

For  leagues  along  th'  Atlantic  shore, 

Virginia's  wilds  he  first  explored, 

Where  Powhatan  then  ruled  the  lord.* . 

For  him  the  Indian  maiden  felt 

Her  heart  with  tender  pity  melt, 

When  she  the  noble  Pale  Face  saw 

Condemned  to  death  by  savage  law* 

Of  visage  stern  and  haughty  port, 

The  tawny  sovereign  held  his  court. 

In  rude,  barbarian  pomp  and  state, 

Upon  a  rustic  throne  he  sate, 

Surrounded  by  his  warriors  grim, 

Devoted,  loyal  unto  him, 

Their  breath's  inflamed  with  deadly  hate 

Against  the  prisoner  whom  Fate, 

Deserting  in  a  trying  hour, 

Had  lately  brought  within  their  power. 

His  limbs  were  manacled  and  tied, 

But  not  subdued  his  spirit's  pride. 

(  ndauntcd  courage  lie  displayed, 

No  fear  nor  cowardice  betrayed. 

In  consultation  long  engaged, 

His  foes  became  at  last  enraged, 


8  A    POEM. 

And  numbers  springing  to  their  feet. 

They  draggled  him  near  the  monarch's  seat, 

Then  threw  him  prostrate  on  the  ground, 

Still  firmly  with  his  fetters  bound. 

Extended  at  full  length,  his  head 

Upon  a  stone  is  duly  laid, 

And  now,  before  the  maiden's  eye, 

A  warrior's  club  is  lifted  high, 

Soon  to  descend  again  below, 

And  deal  on  him  a  mortal  blow.  * 

But  ere  the  fatal  stroke  was  made, 

She  sprang  upon  his  neck,  and  prayed 

Her  father  to  desist,  and  spare 

The- life  of  him  endangered  there. 

The  savage  parent's  breast  was  moved, 

For  he  his  beauteous  daughter  loved. 

Surprised  her  conduct  to  behold, 

That  she  should  ask  him  to  withhold 

The  death-club  from  his  hated  foe, 

Arrest  the  meditated  blow, 

Yet  could  he  not  resist  her  prayer, 

The  spectacle  presented  there, 

His  lovely  daughter  kneeling  dowTn 

Beside  the  captive  on  the  ground, 

Her  body  unto  him  a  wrall 

From  the  dead  stroke  about  to  fall. 

He  bade  the  warrior  drop  his  arm, 

And  to  the  stranger  do  no  harm. 

Sweet  Pocahontas  !  thou  shalt  be 

Admired  and  loved  eternally. 


A    POEM.  9 

Long  as  the  trees  and  flowers  shall  grow, 
Long  as  thy  native  streams  shall  flow, 
Shall  live  the  mem'ry  of  thy  name, 
And  wide  as  earth  shall  be  thy  fame. 

The  Youth  of  this  Adventurer, 
His  strange,  eventful,  bright  career, 
I  first  would  fain  portray,  rehearse, 
In  strains  of  sweetly  flowing  verse. 

The  boy  is  father  to  the  man — 
Of  this  no  better  witness  than 
The  subject  of  our  song  we  know, 
Such  as  he  was  in  life's  fresh  glow. 
For  even  in  his  boyish  days, 
He  longed  on  other  lands  to  gaze, 
For  bold  and  wild  adventures  burned, 
For  scenes  surprising,  novel,  yearned. 
The  wide,  wide  world  its  charms  displayed, 
Through  which  in  vision  oft  he  strayed, 
Till  in  his  secret  soul  at  length, 
Relying  on  his  inborn  strength, 
He  formed  a  plan  to  leave  his  home. 
And  here  and  there  at  random  roam. 
For  schools  and  books  he  little  cared ; 
On  these  his  spirit  poorly  fared. 
Sight-seeing,  motion,  action,  these 
Alone  his  restless  mind  could  }>1<;i 
His  hated  satchel  hence  lie  sold, 
And  all  his  books  exchanged  for  gold, 


10  A    POEM. 

Determined  that  from  these  set  free, 
The  open  world  his  school  should  be. 
But  ere  his  youthful  steps  had  stayed, 
His  father  in  the  grave  was  laid, 
And  this  event  his  purpose  strayed. 
Yet  subject  still  to  others'  rule, 
More  odious  than  the  hated  school, 
By  them  he's  now  apprentice  bound 
To  one  in  walks  of  commerce  found. 
Sad  situation  this  he  viewed 
For  one,  like  him,  by  heaven  endued 
With  such  o'erflowing  energy, 
And  aspirations  high  and  free. 
The  place  was  loathsome  in  his  eyes, 
Its  irksome  duties  he  despised, 
Content  therewith,  he  ne'er  could  be, 
For  all  the  wealth  of  land  and  sea. 
His  galling  chains  he  quickly  broke, 
Cast  off  his  master's  heavy  yoke, 
And,  follower  to  a  youthful  lord, 
Commenced  his  wanderings  abroad. 

Bestripped  and  penniless  did  he 
Launch  forth  on  liic's  tempestuous  sea, 
For  ere  he  left  his  native  land, 
His  guardians  placed  within  his  hand, 
Extracted  from  his  own  estate, 
A  patrimony  amply  great, 
A  sum  most  pitifully  small, 
Reserving  for  themselves  his  all. 


A   POEM.  11 

Ten  shillings  only  did  they  give, 
And  this  that  he  might  henceforth  live 
Away  from  them,  nor  e'er  again 
Disturb  them  in  their  ill-got  gain. 
Such  often,  in  this  heartless  state, 
Becomes  the  bitter,  cruel  fate 
Of  those  whom  Providence  bereaves, 
And  tender,  helpless  orphans  leaves. 
But  with  a  light  and  bouyant  heart 
Upon  the  voyage  did  he  start, 
And  from  his  sea-girt  isle  depart, 
The  bounding  vessel  not  more  gay, 
That  bore  him  from  her  coast  away. 
Soon  that  of  France  appeared  in  sight, 
On  which  he  landed  with  delight, 
Mingled  with  feelings  of  surprise, 
For  countless'  objects  met  his  eyes, 
Which  unto  him  were  novelties. 
All,  all  around  was  strange  and  new, 
On  which  he  gazed  with  eager  view, 
He  saw,  he  felt  he  was  among 
A  people  of  another  tongue, 
Of  different  laws,  religion,  race, 
From  those  within  his  native  place. 
Thus  feels  the  youth  of  every  land 
AY  lien  first  he  treads  a  foreign  strand. 
Sensations  new  and  strange  arise 
In  view  of  what  he  then  descries, 
Emotions  never  known  before 
He  stood  upon  that  foreign  shore. 


12  A    POEM. 

But  though  in  many  a  land  he  roam, 
Far  distant  from  his  boyhood's  home, 
Mid  strangers  pass  his  riper  years, 
Yet  still  one  country  he  prefers, 
And  loves  more  warmly  than  the  rest, 
A  land  he  ever  thinks  the  best 
On  which  the  light  of  heaven  falls 
The  country  which  his  own  he  calls. 
To  this  in  thought  he  often  turns, 
For  this  with  fond  affection  yearns, 
And  deeply  in  his  heart  there  burns 
A  passion  for  that  spot  of  earth, 
The  sacred  spot  that  gave  him  birth. 

Our  hero  young,  a  novice  yet, 
With  wonder  viewed  whate'er  he  met 
Among  that  strange,  peculiar  race, 
Who  to  the  Gauls  their  lineage  trace. 
Their  manners,  customs,  habits — all, 
Their  habitations  great  and  small, 
Their  style  of  life  in  every  part, 
And  skill  in  culinary  art, 
The  modes  in  which  they  cooked  their  food, 
The  things  by  them  considered  good, 
Among  the  rich  the  bull-frog's  thigh, 
And  every  viand  seasoned  high 
An  Epicurean  taste  to  please, 
So  fond  of  luxury  and  ease ; 
The  herbs  and  chestnuts  which  the  poor 
Subsisted  on,  their  only  store ; 


A    POEM.  13 

The  universal  merriment 
Resounding  loud,  where'er  he  went, 
Their  dances  in  the  open  air, 
And  gay  expression,  free  from  care, 
Their  frolics,  mirth,  and  jollity, 
On  holidays  especially, 
The  swarming  friars,  bishops,  priests, 
The  numerous  sacred  days  and  feasts 
By  holy  mother  church  ordained, 
And  Sabbath  shamelessly  profaned — 
All  these  to  his  admiring  view 
Were  scenes  surprising,  striking,  new. 
But  still  he  wondered  most  of  all, 
When  he  beheld  the  Capital, 
The  streets  of  Paris  gaily  trod, 
Where  Fashion  sits  enthroned  a  god. 
'Twas  then  as  npw  a  famous  place, 

And  thither  many  turned  the  face, 
From  other  lands  and  cities  came, 

Attracted  by  its  brilliant  name. 

But  shortly  ending  here  his  stay, 

Our  youthful  hero  went  his  way, 

A. member  of  the  great  man's  band, 

With  whom  he  left  his  native  land. 

The  train  moved  southward  till  it  came 

Unto  a  place  of  ancient  name, 

A  city  built  before  the  day 

Of  Rome's  proud,  universal  sway 

By  Caisar  captured  tad  east  down, 

It  rose  again  a  prosperous  town, 


14  A   POEM. 

Aurelian's  name  received  and  bore, 

Adorned  by  him  as  ne'er  before. 

With  varying  fortunes  thence  it  grew, 

And  nevermore  destruction  knew. 

All  of  a  sudden  here  the  lord 

Dismissed  our  hero  with  the  word,    • 

That  he  no  longer  him  required, 

Nor  his  attending  steps  desired. 

He  might  have  done  a  thing  much  worse, 

By  putting  nothing  in  his  purse, 

And  leaving  him  impoverished  there, 

The  ills  of  indigence  to  bear. 

But  with  a  generous  patron's  heart, 

He  would  not  cause  him  to  depart 

From  his  employ  and  company, 

Without  the  means  to  cross  the  sea, 

And  reach  again  his  English  home, 

To  which  he  was  advised  to  come. 

But  most  unwelcome  words  were  these, 

Unfit  his  roving  mind  to  please, 

Nor  did  he  in  the  least  intend, 

To  follow  such  a  course  or  end, 

But  inwardly  resolved  to  be 

A  roamer  unconstrained  and  free. 

To  Paris  straightway  he  returned, 

About  its  scenes  alone  concerned ; 

Here  life  he  passed  without  a  sigh, 

For  here  excitement's  waves  ran  high, 

And,  like  the  petrel  of  the  storm, 

The  tempest  had  for  him  a  charm. 


A   POEM.  15 

Among  the  host  of  strangers  whom 
He  met  with;  was  a  David  Hume, 
A  gentleman  of  Scottish  birth, 
Who,  rich  in  feeling,  gold,  and  worth, 
Became  an  ardent  friend  to  Smith, 
And  him  he  kindly  furnished  with 
The  treasure  that  his  wants  supplied, 
And  many  other  gifts  beside. 
He  doubtless  gave  him  good  advice, 
Designed  to  make  him  prudent,  wise. 
He  gave  him  hearty  sympathy, 
More  dear  than  aught  of  land  or  sea, 
And  more  than  all,  as  he  conceived, 
And  firmly  in  his  heart  believed, 
The  greatest  boon  at  least  bestowed, 
And  put  him  fairly  on  the  road 
To  fortune  and  her  favoring  hand, 
When  him  he  sent  to  his  own  land, 
With  letters  unto  those  addressed 
By  royal  James  beloved,  caressed, 
That  with  their  master  they  should  try 
To  gain  for  him  a  friendly  eye. 
He  started,  on  his  journey  bent, 
But  soon  he  all  his  funds  had  spent, 
And  penniless  again,  he  found 
Himself  at  Fortune's  lowest  round. 


But  when  thus  low  reduced,  distrc 
Two  motives  joined  within  his  breast. 


16  A    POEM. 

The  fores  of  pineliing'  poverty, 

The  law  of  stern  necessity, 

United  with  a  strong  desire, 

A  native  military  fire, 

A  thirst  for  glory  and  renown, 

The  camp  and  battle's  noisy  sound, 

To  lead  him  to  the  scene  of  fight, 

And  there  essay  his  youthful  might. 

To  Netherlands  he  makes  his  way, 

The  field  on  which  he  seeks  to  play 

The  warrior,  and  in  deeds  of  strife 

Expend  a  portion  of  his  life. 

Prince  Maurice  there,  the  great  and  wise, 

Whose  fame  through  every  country  flies, 

The  mightiest  captain  of  his  time, 

A  genius  rare,  and  bold,  sublime, 

A  perfect  master  of  his  art, 

Acquainted  with  its  every  part, 

Devoted  to  a  noble  cause, 

To  free  his  land  from  Spanish  laws, 

The  gloomy  Philip's  bigot  rule, 

A  cowled  monarch  and  a  fool, 

Is  bravely  warring  with  his  foes, 

Inflicting  on  them  heavy  blows. 

Beneath  his  banner  he  enlists, 

And  in  the  glorious  cause  assists. 

But  in  what  actions  he  engaged, 

Or  how  the  contest  round  him  raged, 

What  marches,  battles,  sieges  he 

Did  help  to  carry  on,  or  see, 


A    POEM.  17 

Or  why  he  left  those  warlike  scenes, 
Of  knowing  I  have  not  the  means. 
Nor  is  it  certain  what  the  year 
That  he  from  thence  did  disappear, 
"What  length  of  service  he  did  yield 
To  Maurice  on  that  tented  field. 
This  only  do  we  know  as  true, 
That  many  things  there  met  his  view, 
On  which  he  gazed  with  grief  and  pain, 
And  hoped  lie  ne'er  should  see  again — 
The  followers  of  a  common  Lord 
Each  other  killing  with  the  sword. 
That  field,  moreover,  proved  a  school, 
Placed  under  military  mle, 
Where  he  an  education  gained, 
At  least  the  rudiments  ohtained, 
Of  martial  science,  art,  and  drill, 
And  learned  to  use  his  arms  with  skill. 
For  France,  he  says,  and  Netherlands, 
They  taught  me  how  to  use  my  hands 
In  wielding  sword,  and  axe,  and  spear, 
And  like  a  gallant  cavalier, 
Upon  the  nohle  steed  to  ride 
In  true  equestrian  style  and  pride. 


Once  more  from  occupation  free, 
He  trusts  himself  again  at  sea, 
To  Scotland  now  his  course  is  bent, 
To  which  he  had  hefore  been  Bent, 


18  A   TOEM. 

That  he  might  court  proud  Fortune  there, 

If  she  a  smiling  face  should  wear. 

'Tis  thus  we  often  lay  aside 

Some  plan,  till  others  have  been  tried, 

And  failing  now  in  that  and  this, 

At  length  we  all  such  schemes  dismiss, 

Then  turn  again  to  that  first  one, 

Resolved  to  follow  it  alone. 

Thus  Smith,  his  fighting  at  an  end, 

Bethought  him  of  his  Scottish  friend, 

The  letters  written  by  his  hand 

To  persons  in  his  native  land, 

Commending  him  to  their  regard 

As  one  deserving  of  reward. 

For  strange  to  say,  'mid  all  his  cares, 

Extending  through  a  term  of  years. 

The  recklessness  of  soldier  life, 

The  confused  scenes  of  active  strife, 

Those  letters  he  had  safely  kept, 

Where'er  he  moved,  or  sat,  or  slept. 

Though  old,  and  soiled,  and  scarcely  fit 

To  be  presented  to  a  cit, 

A  courtier  or  a  man  of  state, 

Especially  as  out  of  date, 

Yet  still  they  form  his  only  trust, 

And  of  them  he  must  make  the  most. 

Equipped  with  these  he  therefore  sails, 

With  wish  and  hope  for  favoring  gales. 

But  ere  the  voyage  was  half  done, 

The  blackened  sky  obscured  the  sun. 


A    POEM.  19 

A  storm  arose,  the  wind  and  rain 
Together  blew  a  hurricane, 
The  maddened  sea  broke  o'er  the  bark, 
And  night  outspread  her  mantle  dark. 
Then  terrors  in  the  soul  arose, 
Which  all  the  vital  currents  froze, 
And  men  with  horror  stood  amazed, 
As  if  the  last  time  they  had  gazed 
On  all  they  keld  most  dear  below, 
And  downward  now  to  death  must  go. 


A  storm  at  sea  !  a  storm  at  sea  ! 
What  can  more  awful,  glorious  be  ! 
A  scene  sublimely  wild  and  grand, 
Surpassing  what  we  view  on  land. 
Far  as  the  eye  xjan  reach  around, 
A  field  of  strife  alone  is  found. 
The  elements  aroused,  enraged, 
Are  seen  in  fiercest  war  engaged : 
The  wind  and  wave  their  strength  essay, 
And  struggle  each  to  gain  the  day. 
Huge  ridges  now  before  you  rise, 
And  yawning  gulfs  next  greet  your  eyes, 
While  in  ten  thousand  different  forms, 
Presenting  full  as  many  charms, 
The  whirling,  foaming  brine  is  cast 
Before  the  frenzy,  of  the  blast. 
And  if,  confiding  in  the  craft, 
Which  lifts  itself  on  high  to  waft 


20  a  poem. 

Its  cargo  o'er  the  rolling  deep, 

We  feel  persuaded  it  can  keep 

Our  body  from  a  watery  grave, 

And  triumph  o'er  the  surging  wave, 

'Tis  then  a  pleasure  to  behold 

A  scene  so  grand,  sublime,  and  bold. 

But  no  such  faith  did  Smith  repose 

In  that  frail  bark,  as  it  arose 

Aloft  upon  the  billowy  crest, 

And  fell  again,  'mid  waves  abreast, 

And  creaked,  and  strained,  and  onward  flew, 

Before  the  whirlwind  as  it  blew. 

Yet  still,  though  others  round  him  stood 

In  gloomy,  sad,  despairing  mood, 

Or  prostrate  sought  in  earnest  prayer 

That  gracious  heaven  their  lives  would  spare? 

Would  still  the  angry,  roaring  main, 

And  bring  them  safe  to  land  again, 

Our  hero's  brow  remained  serene, 

Calmly  he  viewed  the  dreadful  scene, 

Resolved  with  stoic  mind,  to  wait 

The  issues  and  decrees  of  Fate : 

Although,  to  add  to  his  distress, 

A  sickening  nausea  him  oppressed, 

A  form  of  suffering  only  known 

To  those  upon  rough  ocean  borne, 

And  which  the  stoutest  hearts  and  brave 

Subdues,  till  they  deliverance  crave. 

But  that  I  may  most  briefly  tell 

The  fate  which  that  frail  bark  befel, 


A    POEM.  21 

I'll  simply  state  that  it  was  driven 
Upon  a  rock-bound  coast,  and  riven, 
A  shattered  mass,  a  wreck  became, 
To  pieces  quickly  went  its  frame, 
And  nought  on  board  attained  the  shore, 
Except  the  living  souls  it  bore. 


Delivered  from  the  dangerous  flood, 
With  joy  upon  the  land  he  stood, 
And  thence  set  out  anew  to  gain 
The  object  which  he  sought  t'  attain. 
He  came  to  Edinburg  renowned, 
Its  towering  heights  with  castle  crowned, 
A  city  picturesque  and  fair, 
Presenting  many  beauties  rare. 
One  portion  new,  the  other  old, 
AiFord  a  contrast  striking,  bold. 
The  ancient  town  with  hoary  age 
O'erfurrowed,  shall  your  eye  engage, 
The  house  of  Knox,  and  Holyrood, 
And  other  buildings  which  have  stood 
For  ages  past,  and  back  translate 
The  thoughts  unto  an  earlier  date, 
Recalling  many  a  stirring  act, 
Important  scene,  historic  fact, 
Connected  with  the  olden  time, 
Some  deed  of  glory,  or  of  crime. 
This  part  alone  existed  then, 
And  gaily,  proudly  flourished  when 


22  A    POEM. 

Our  hero  made  his  visit  there, 

And  gazed  upon  that  city  fair. 

The  modern  town  has  since  arose, 

A  bright  creation,  as  he  knows 

Who  pens  these  lines,  and  fain  would  draw 

A  picture  true  of  what  he  saw, 

When  through  its  stately  streets  and  wide 

He  wandered  once  in  youthful  pride, 

Surveying,  as  he  onward  went, 

Scott's  noble,  graceful  monument, 

And  all  the  splendor's  of  Prince  street, 

Till  they  at  last  the  structures  meet, 

Which,  placed  on  Calton  Hill,  arise 

With  varying  grandeur  toward  the  skies. 

And  still  again,  if  space  allowed, 

I  might  describe  the  numerous  crowd, 

Which  met,  a  vast,  imposing  scene, 

To  view  the  entrance  of  the  Queen, 

Victoria  and  her  regal  train, 

As  thundering  loud,  along  the  plain 

The  locomotive  and  the  car 

Came  rushing  onward  from  afar — 

A  spectacle  I  chanced  to  see, 

My  only  glimpse  of  royalty. 

But  these,  and  many  other  things, 

Which  memory  now  before  me  brings, 

Salisbury  Crags  and  Arthur's  Seat, 

The  Pentland  Hills — I  deem  unmeet, 

That  I  should  here  more  fully  paint, 

Lest  those  who  read  should  make  complaint. 


A   POEM.  23 

From  this  digression,  I'll  go  back, 
And  seek  again  the  former  track, 
Our  hero's  steps  once  more  pursue, 
His  acts  and  movements  bring  to  view. 


Arrived  in  town,  at  length  he  sought 
The  persons  unto  whom  he  brought 
The  notes  designed  to  help  him  on 
To  favor,  fortune,  and  renown.    , 
A  cordial  welcome  he  obtained, 
But  nothing  more  than  that  he  gained. 
The  sturdy  Scots  threw  wide  the  door 
Unto  their  guest,  but  nothing  more 
Than  generous  fare  and  treatment  kind, 
Among  them  did  he  ever  find. 
A  barren  harvest  reaped  he  there, 
No  fruit  to  him  the  land  did  bear. 
Hence  from  a  field  so  poor  he  turned. 
And  for  some  other  spot  he  yearned — 
That  spot,  just  then,  his  childhood's  home, 
To  this  he  longed  once  more  to  come, 
Renew  the  scenes  of  bygone  days, 
On  old,  familiar  faces  gaze, 
Among  his  friends  delighted  stand, 
Receive  the  greeting  of  their  hand, 
And  to  their  listening  ears  unfold 
His  deeds  so  novel,  strange,  and  bold. 
He  came,  and  in  the  old  homestead 
Appeared,  as  one  who  from  the  dead 


24  A    POEM. 

Had  risen,  the  frightful  shade  or  ghost 
Of  him  by  all  considered  lost, 
The  boy  who  years  before  had  gone 
Beyond  the  sea,  to  .parts  unknown. 
His  guardians  trembled  when  they  heard 
This  new,  surprising,  startling  word. 
For  well  they  knew  a  horrid  crime 
Had  they  committed  at  the  time, 
When  him,  a  helpless,  orphan  lad, 
By  treachery  and  force  they  had 
Deprived  of  all  his  earthly  store, 
And  bribed  him  from  his  native  shore. 


He  now  enjoyed  a  local  fame, 
And  in  his  native  town  became 
A  lion  marked,  observed  by  all, 
Talked  of  alike  by  great  and  small. 
Vast  numbers  sought  his  company, 
Well  pleased  with  his  society, 
And  with  attentive,  eager  ear, 
Would  listen  his  discourse  to  hear, 
While  he  the  young,  the  brave,  and  bold, 
His  various  deeds  and  wanderings  told. 
On  him  the  village  maidens  cast 
Their  softest  glances  as  he  passed, 
And  many  in  their  bosoms  bore 
A  wound  they  had  not  felt  before. 
He  was  indeed  a  handsome  youth — 
Of  him  it  might  be  said  in  truth, 


A  POfeM.  25 

That  in  a  noble,  manly  form, 

And  all  the  various  traits  that  charm 

The  heart  of  woman,  and  her  love 

To  passionate  affection  move, 

He  had  no  equal  near  him  there, 

But  stood  unrivalled  with  the  fair. 

A  proud  and  martial  air  had  he, 

A  mingled  grace  and  majesty, 

The  Hero  in  his  aspect  shone, 

A  nameless  something  o'er  him  thrown, 

And  from  his  full  and  daring  eye 

There  beamed  the  soul  of  chivalry. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  he  became 

The  cause  and  object  of  a  flame 

In  many  a  blushing  maiden's  breast, 

Though  none  among  them  he  addressed, 

Nor,  pierced  in  turn  by  Cupid,  fell 

A  prey  to  woman's  magic  spell. 

Yet  such  the  nature  of  our  Smith, 

He  could  not  be  contented  with 

Those  scenes  of  social  gaiety, 

But  fled  from  all  society, 

As  if  it  were  a  weariness, 

A  source  of  pain  and  heaviness. 

He  chose  a  lone,  secluded  spot, 

A  little,  wooded,  grassy  lot, 

Round  which  on  every  side  there  stood 

A  vast,  extensive  tract  of  wood, 

A  forest  free  from  house  of  man, 

And  every  other  dwelling  than 

•2 


26  |     PO£5f. 

rriie  covert  of  the  fox  and  hare, 

And  other  beasts  that  haunted  there* 

Here  in  this  "wild,  romantic  place, 

Kemoved  from  sight  of  human  face, 

Beside  a  gentle  brook  and  fair, 

He  built  a  shelter  from  the  air. 

With  boughs  of  trees  he  formed  a  dome? 

And  occupied  it  as  a  home. 

By  night  upon  the  ground  he  lay,. 

In  various  methods  spent  the  day. 

By  turns  the  "  Art  of  War'r  perused. 

And  on  the  Stoic  precepts  mused, 

Or,  tired  of  these,  the  forest  sought, 

From  whence  returning,  oft  he  brought 

The  fat,  inviting,  savory  deer, 

On  which  he  feasted  with  good  cheer. 

At  other  times  would  mount  his  steed,. 

And  bounding  forward  at  full  speed, 

Would  strive  with  lance  to  pierce  the  ring? 

Suspended  by  a  simple  string. 


The  strange,  mysterious  life  he  led 
In  that  retired  place  soon  bred 
A  rumor  through  the  neighbourhood, 
About  the  hermit  of  the  wood. 
This  rumor  reached  at  length  the  ear 
Of  one  who  was  sojourning  near, 
A  gentleman  from  Italy, 
Accomplished  in  a  high  degree, 


A   POEM.  27 

Who  sought  him  in  his  lone  retreat, 
Were  oft  engaged  in  converse  sweet, 
The  two  together  whilcd  away 
The  hours  of  many  a  genial  day. 
But  not  enough  was  this  for  Smith, 
Who  now  infatuated  with 
His  new  acquaintance,  could  not  be 
Content  without  his  company. 
Hence  to  enjoy  more  constantly 
The  charms  of  his  society, 
His  rustic  dwelling  he  forsook, 
His  rude  pavilion  by  the  brook, 
And  with  his  friend  new  lodgings  took 
33ut  to  inaction  disinclined, 
'Contentment  here  he  failed  to  find. 
The  quiet  which  around  him  reigned. 
His  restless,  roving  heart  restrained. 
The  pleasures,  v.  Inch  he  tasted,  all 
Became  a  surfeit  and  a  pall. 
lie  longed  again  to  roam  afar, 
Engage  in  stirring  scenes  of  war. 
Still  farther  now  he  wished  to  go, 
.More  of  the  world  to  see  find  know, 
And  deeming  it  a  sin  and  shame, 
That  those  who  bore  the  Christian  name 
Should  make  themselves  each  other's  1 
And  their  frateraai  arms  0]  po 

mid  rusl  the  deadly  fight, 

In  mutual  slaughter  take  delight, 


%%  A    POEM. 

He  now,  still  bent  on  martial  work, 
Resolved  to  seek  the  hated  Turk, 
The  honor  of  the  Cross  sustain, 
The  cause  of  Christendom  maintain, 
And  force  the  Crescent  to  retreat 
Back  to  its  early,  eastern  seat, 
That  Europe  from  its  yoke  set  free 
Might  raise  the  shout  of  liberty. 
But  ere  he  left  again  the  strand 
To  wander  from  his  native  land, 
He  boldly  sought,  nor  sought  in  vain, 
His  patrimony  to  regain. 
Success  in  part  his  efforts  crowned, 
And  hence  himself  lie  gladly  found 
Possessor  of  a  larger  store 
Of  worldly  wealth  than  e'er  before. 


CANTO   II. 

Supplied  with  funds,  prepared  to  start, 

Smith  came  to  London  to  depart, 

And  in  the  splendid  shops  which  there 

Displayed  their  contents  gay  and  fair, 

Regardless  of  the  cost,  he  bought 

The  various  articles  he  thought 

Most  fit  his  person  to  adorn, 

Like  one  to  rank  and  riches  born. 

Then,  like  a  caged  bird  set  free, 

He  sailed  again  upon  the  sea. 

A  second  time  he  seeks  the  shore 

Of  France,  as  he  had  done  before. 

A  group  of  natives  from  that  land, 

A  roving,  wild,  adventurous  band, 

A  reckless,  worthless,  thievish  set, 

Though  seeming  fair,  on  board  he  met. 

Attracted  by  his  rich  attire, 

Their  hearts  were  seized  with  strong  desire 

To  gain  possession  of  his  wealth, 

By  any  means,  of  force  or  stealth. 

A  plot  among  themselves  they  formed, 

And  with  their  pleasing  arts  so  charmed 

His  youthful,  unsuspecting  heart, 

That  he  consented  to  the  part 

Allotted  unto  him  to  play, 

And  to  their  cunning  fell  a  prey. 


30  a  poem. 

The  robbers  landed  on  the  shore, 
And  i':iv  away  their  booty  bore, 
While  he,  impoverished  by  the  theft, 
Behind  them  on  the  ship  was  left. 
Yet  many  friends  on  board  had  he, 
Who,  maddened  by  the  treachery 
Which  the  commander  of  the  bark, 
A  party  to  the  scheme  so  dark, 
Had  basely  shown  to  Smith  that  they 
Were  eager  him  to  seize  and  slay. 
But  he  from  such  revenge  for eb ore, 
And  suffered  them  to  do  no  more 
Than  on  him  vent  their  wrath  and  scorn 
In  curses  deep  as  if  hell-born. 
Reduced  again  to  penury 
By  this  vile  act  of  robbery, 
With  heavy  heart  he  journeys  on 
In  close  companionship  with  one, 
A  person  whom  he  met  at  sea, 
A  citizen  of  Normandy, 
Who  kindly,  freely  acts  as  guide 
To  lead  him  where  the  friends  reside 
Of  those  who  had  that  deed  performed,. 
And  him  so  deeply,  cruelly  harmed. 
But  he,  a  friendless  stranger  there, 
The  injury  could  not  repair, 
Redress  nor  recompense  obtained 
For  damage  which  he  had  sustained. 
Yet  still  his  sad  and  touching  tale, 
And  striking  presence,  did  not  fail 


A   POEM.  SI 

To  win  for  him  the  sympathy, 

Secure  the  hospitality 

Of  many  noble  houses  round, 

Where  he  a  kind  reception  found. 

He  might  have  long  remained  with  these, 

In  unbou^ht  luxury  and  ease, 

If  such  had  been  his  will  and  mind, 

If  thus  his  wishes  had  inclined. 

But  little  did  such  joys  agree 

With  one  so  restless,  roving,  free, 

Nor  could  his  lofty  nature  bear 

That  he  another's  gifts  should  share, 

And  favors  from  his  hand  obtain 

Which  he  could  never  pay  again. 

He  therefore  tore  himself  away, 

And  quickly  ended  here  his  stay. 

From  port  to  port  he  onward  went, 

Upon  some  ship  of  war  intent, 

That  he  his  voyage  might  renew, 

His  Moslem  pilgrimage  pursue. 

But  having  spent  the  little  store 

Of  fopd  and  money  which  he  bore, 

He  in  a  forest  stopped  to  rest, 

With  hunger,  cold  and  grief  oppressed, 

Where  near  a  limpid  fountain  he, 

Half-dead,  beneath  a  spreading  tree, 

Was  by  a  wealthy  farmer  found, 

And  with  his  Lovins-kifirdness  crowded. 

For  by  a  generous  pity  moved, 

A  good  Samaritan  lie  proved, 


32  A    1'oKM. 

Who  caused  him  on  his  horse  to  ride, 

And  took  him  to  his  own  fireside, 

Where  warmed,  and  fed,  and  sweetly  cheered, 

Himself  again  he  soon  appeared, 

And  with  a  lightened  heart  and  gay, 

Departing  thence,  pursued  his  way. 


As  through  another  forest  he 

Was  one  day  passing,  suddenly 

A  well-known  form  before  him  stood, 

Whom  he  at  once,  in  wrathful  mood, 

Determined  to  attack,  despite 

The  tattered,  mean,  and  piteous  plight 

In  which  just  then  he  seemed  to  be — 

An  old  acquaintance  of  the  sea, 

Concerned  in  that  infernal  snare 

That  stripped  him  of  his  treasures  bare. 

Nor  one  nor  other  spoke  a  word, 

But  instantly  both  drew  the  sword, 

And  front  to  front,  in  ba,ttle  fierce, 

Each  other's  vitals  sought  to  pierce. 

The  simple  peasants  dwelling  near, 

With  rapid  flight,  impelled  by  fear, 

And  curiosity  to  vievf 

A  scene  so  strange,  exciting,  new, 

Collected  on  an  ancient  tower, 

And  witnessed  thence  the  skill' and  power 

Which  each  partaker  in  the  fight 

Displayed  before  their  greedy  sight. 


A    POEM.  33 

Our  hero's  arms  at  length  prevailed, 
Beneath  his  blows  the  other  failed, 
And  falling  helpless  to  the  ground, 
Confessed  to  those  that  stood  around 
The  blackened  crime  and  guilt  that  Smith, 
By  word  and  deed,  had  charged  him  with. 
But  having  thus  subdued  his  foe, 
And  seeing  him  reduced  so  low, 
The  victor  now  compassion  felt, 
His  hard  and  angry  feelings  melt. 
Content  with  that  which  he  had  done, 
And  with  the  laurels  he  had  won, 
He  nobly  sheathed  his  shining  blade, 
JNo  further  vengeance  he  essayed. 


With  brave,  determined,  cheerful  heart, 
He  wandered  on  through  every  part 
Of  western  and  south-western  France, 
His  course  directed  as  by  chance, 
Till  he  had  passed  entirely  o'er 
That  kingdom  to  its  southern  shore. 
And  at  Marseilles,  a  city  famed 
For  causes  more  than  can  be  named 
Within  the  space  that  I  can  spare, 
Without  his  stay  prolonging  there, 
He  passage  took  for  Italy, 
The  country  of  the  Holy  Sec. 
A  band  of  Pilgrims,  thither  bound, 
From  various  lands,  on  board  he  found. 


34  A    POEM. 

Of  different  f.iith,  they  soon  began 

Their  opposite  beliefs  to  scan. 

A  bold  defender  he  became 

Of  all  who  bore  the  hated  name 

Of  Protestant  or  heretic, 

And  angry  words  flew  fast  and  thick, 

Until  at  length  a  storm  arose, 

When  he,  obnoxious  to  his  foes, 

Esteemed  the  cause  of  all  their  woes, 

A  second  Jonah  in  their  eye, 

Was  by  their  voice  condemned  to  die. 

They  doom  him  to  a  watery  grave, 

And  cast  him  headlong  in  the  wave, 

Expecting  from  this  act  that  he 

Would  perish  in  the  raging  sea. 

But  He  that  rules  and  guides  the  storm 

Preserved  his  life,  and,  free  from  harm, 

He  reached  again  the  stable  land, 

Although  it  was  a  sterile  strand, 

A  little  isle,  and  nothing  more, 

St.  Mary's  called,  near  Savoy's  shore. 

.  Next  morning,  to  his  glad  surprise, 
A  sail  advancing  he  descries. 
The  vessel  soon  attains  the  shore, 
And  waits  there  till  a  calm  is  o'er. 
The  captain,  as  it  chanced  to  be, 
Had  numerous  friends  in  Brittany, 
And,  'mong  the  rest,  was  neighbour  to 
A  nobleman  our  hero  knew. 


A   POEM.  35 

A  cordial  friendship  soon  arose 
Between  them,  as  the  story  goes, 
And  Smith,  now  full  of  joy  and  love, 
Resolved  with  him  thenceforth  to  rove, 
Along  with  him  his  fortunes  try, 
Where'er  he  ranged  beneath  the  sky. 
When  next  he  felt  the  favoring  gales, 
The  master  quickly  spread  the  sails, 
And  with  our  hero  he  again 
Proceeded  o'er  the  briny  main. 
They  coast  along  by  Corsica, 
The  island  of  Sardinia, 
Along  the  shore  of  Sicily, 
The  Southern  end  of  Italy, 
And  thence  across  the  deep  to  where 
Th'  Egyptian  city,  proud  and  fair, 
By  Philip's  son  established,  stands, 
The  former  glory  of  all  lands. 
Departing  thence  their  course  they  steer 
Beneath  that  genial  sky  and  clear, 
Which  o'er  the  Grecian  isles  is  hung, 
And  oft  by  bards  impassioned  sung. 
Their  vessel  plows  th'  iEgean  wave. 
The  waters  which  Epirus  lave, 
With  speed  and  beauty  skims  the  main, 
Till  they  the  Adriatic  gain. 
A  noble  vessel  here  they  sec, 
A  rich  Vcnitian  anrosie. 
The  ships  in  bloody  strife  engage, 
The  crews  inflamed  with  mutual  rage, 


3G  A    POEM. 

Nor  from  the  work  of  death  abstain, 
Till  many  wounded,  weak,  or  slain, 
One  side  their  colors  strike,  and  yield 
The  honors  of  the  naval  field. 
Our  hero's  ship  victorious  proved, 
And  with  its  booty  onward  moved. 
A  wondrous  quantit}?-  they  gained, 
A  precious  treasure  they  obtained 
Of  silks,  and  velvet,  cloth  of  gold. 
And  other  things  which  scarce  are  told 
In  terms  familiar  to  our  ears, 
Sultanies,  sequins,  piasters. 
To  Smith  there  fell  a  liberal  share, 
Attesting  that  in  this  affair, 
Whatever  motive  stirred  his  heart, 
He  played  a  brave  and  valiant  part. 

Still  westward  bent,  the  vessel  back 
Its  way  retraced  along  the  track, 
O'er  which  the  classic  hero  sailed, 
When  him  the  Fates  of  Troy  had  failed, 
And  flying  from  his  native  shore, 
His  sire  and  country's  gods  he  bore, 
His  little  son,  and  many  more, 
Companions  of  his  suffering, 
Attendants  in  his  wandering, 
And  with  them  sought  new  seats  to  gain, 
Ear  distant  o'er  the  billowy  main, 
Hespcria's  fair  and  fertile  soil, 
Where  he,  by  bravery  and  toil, 


A    POEM.  37 

Impelled  by  Jove's  supreme  command, 
And  Destiny's  resistless  band, 
Again  should  found  an  empire  vast, 
Which  should  through  endless  ages  last, 
A  city  whose  proud  walls  should  be 
Coeval  with  eternity. 
Our  hero,  through  the  misty  haze, 
Like  him  of  old,  his  earnest  gaze 
Directed  to  the  low  foreground, 
And  gently  rising  hills  that  bound 
The  prospect  in  the  distant  rear, 
As  he  Italia  coasted  near. 
And  sailing  on,  with  equal  care, 
His  vessel  shunned  the  double  snare 
Which  Scylla  and  Charybdis  lay 
For  those  who  dare  to  pass  that  way. 
And  iEtna,  too,  before  his  eyes 
Upreared  his  summit  to  the  skies, 
A  flaming,  boiling,  bellowing  mass, 
As  in  the  days  of  iEneas, 
Which  oft  a  dread,  volcanic  flood 
Pours  forth  o'er  city,  field,  and  wood  ; 
His  bowels  hurls  aloft  in  air, 
And  casts  around  a  lurid  glare  ; 
Huge  rocks  fly  high,  and  like  the  rain, 
Or  stones  of  hail,  fall  back  again ; 
Dense  clouds  of  fiery  dust  depart, 
The  breathings  of  his  mighty  heart, 
And  when  resounds  his  trembling  roar, 
The  island  shakes  from  shore  t<>  Bhore. 


38  A    POEM. 

Thus  Nature's  old,  primeval  frame 
From  age  to  age  remains  the  same. 
The  works  of  man  alone  are  changed, 
By  time,  and  -war,  and  use  deranged ; 
His  proudest  monuments  decay, 
And,  like  a  vision,  pass  away. 


But  now,  with  new  desire  possessed, 
Smith  to  his  friend  the  wish  expressed, 
When  they  had  compassed  Sicily, 
Again  drew  near  to  Italy, 
That  he,  by  landing,  might  once  more 
Exchange  the  water  for  the  shore. 
The  captain  granted  his  request, 
His  farewell  words  to  him  addressed, 
When,  disembarked,  he  saw  him  stand 
A  stranger  lone  on  Piedmont's  strand. 
But  not  was  he  cast  down  or  pained, 
He  rather  joyed  that  he  had  gained 
'  An  opportunity  so  fair 
As  that  which  he  discovered  there, 
Of  viewing  that  immortal  field 
Of  arts  and  arms,  whose  treasures  yield 
Such  plenty  to  instruct  and  please 
The  student  in  his  house  of  ease — 
Italia,  famed  in  classic  story, 
Theatre  of  old  lloman  glory, 
Long  sunk  in  infamy  and  shame, 
Unworthy  of  her  ancient  name, 


A    POEM. 

But  now  again  with  honor  crowned  ; 
For  men,  and  arts,  and  arms  renowned. 
Through  Leghorn  passing  on  his  way, 
And  various  other  towns  that  lay 
Along  the  route,  at  length  he  came 
To  that  gray  capital,  the  same 
That  held  the  Caesars  in  their  prime, 
Though  dating  far  hcyond  their  time, 
By  Romulus  laid  out  and  walled, 
Thence  Rome,  th'  Eternal  City,  called, 
The  Queen  and  Mistress  of  the  world, 
Who  on  her  foes  destruction  hurled, 
Until  in  turn  she  fell  a  prey 
To  Gothic  arms,  and  passed  away. 
And  yet  her  ghostly  power  remained, 
O'er  wondering  nations  still  she  reigned, 
With  priestly  craft  and  arts  refined 
Maintained  the  empire  of  the  mind. 
It  chanced  that  while  Smith  tarried  here. 
All  eyes  to  see,  all  cars  to  hear, 
He  saw  to  him  a  strange  affair, 
The  occupant  of  Peter's  chair, 
Pope  Clement  and  a  numerous  train 
Of  cardinals,  together  deign, 
With  prostrate  body,  bended  knee, 
A  formal,  mock  humility, 
And  motion  serpentine,  ascend 
Those  holy  stairs  which  they  pretend, — 
A  tale  from  old  Tradition's  fount — 
Are  those  by  Which  our  Lord  did  mount 


;;9 


40  a  poi:m. 

The  Roman  g -ovcrnor  to  meet, 
And  stand  before  his  judgment-seat. 
The  places  -where  his  drops  of  blood 
Down  trickling  fell  upon  that  wood, 
Were  marked  with  shining  nails  of  stee 
And  all  who  thither  came  to  kneel 
Were  forced  to  kiss  each  glittering  head 
A  substitute  for  spot  of  red. 
'Twas  thus  some  ninety  years  before, 
A  monk  from  Germany  who  bore 
The  name  of  Luther,  and  had  come 
To  visit  holy,  mother  Home, 
With  simple,  guileless,  pious  heart, 
Had  stooped  to  act  a  similar  part, 
Was  crawling  up  that  sacred  flight, 
When,  like  a  sudden  flash  of  light, 
Or  like  a  voice  he  seemed  to  hear, 
Which  startling  fell  upon  his  ear, 
The  words  of  Holy  Writ  proclaimed, 
How  deeply  he  himself  had  shamed 
By  that  low,  superstitious  deed, 
Demanded  by  the  papal  creed". 
With  bitter  self-reproaches  stung, 
Erom  that  base  penance  up  he  sprung, 
With  horror  from  the  scene  he  lied, 
Back  to  his  native  country  sped, 
And  there  a  trumpet  blast  he  blew, 
Which,  like  a  call  to  battle,  flew 
Abroad,  afar,  on  every  hand, 
Its  echoes  fell  on  every  land, 


A     1'UKM.  4! 

And  waked  in  many  a  struggling  soul 
Tho  will  to  spurn  the  Pope's  control, 
The  resolution  to  be  free 
From  his  degrading  tyranny. 


Our  hero,  leaving  Rome,  once  more 
Continued  thence  to  wander  o'er 
The  other  parts  of  Italy, 
With  curiosity  to  see 
The  various  objects,  old  and  new,    ■ 
Which  offered  to  the  traveller's  view. 
Before  his  rambles  have  an  end, 
His  visits  through  the  land  extend 
To  Naples,  Florence,  Bologna, 
To  Virgil's  birth-place,  Mantua, 
And  other  famous  towns  till  he 
Attains  that  city  of  the  sea, 
The  many-isled  commercial  mart, 
Which  once  performed  a  glorious  part 
Upon  the  universal  stage, 
Whereon  communities  engage 
In  acting  out  their  destiny, 
Whatc'er  their  fates  and  fortunes  be. 
Centre  of  riches  and  of  trade, 
Tn  splendor's  vestments  rayed, 

With  orient  penrls  and  gems  adorned, 
All  rivals  envied,  hated,  scorm  I, 
The  former  Mistress  of  the 
Her  ships  impelled  bv 


4:i  a   roK.u. 

That  flouted  o'er  the  narrow  space 

Then  known  of  ocean's  mighty  face. 

Familiar  unto  all  her  name, 

Tire  story  of  her  wealth  and  fame, 

Her  gondolas  and  liquid  streets, 

The  boatmens'  song  that  often  greets 

The  listening  car  at  even-tide, 

As  through  the  stream  their  vessels  glide 

The  lion  that  meets  the  gazer's  eyes, 

The  ducal  palace,  Bridge  of  Sighs, 

The  splendid  square  of  San  Marco, 

The  grand  canal,  and  Rialto, 

The  scene  of  traffic  to  the  Jew, 

Whose  living  portrait  Shakspeare  drew  ! 


At  Venice  quitting  land  again, 
Our  hero  skims  the  watery  plain,     . 
The  Adriatic  courses  o'er 
Along  the  rude,  Dalmatian  shore. 
Albania,  too,  before  him  lies, 
Whose  lofty  ridges  touch  the  skies, 
The  wild,  and  rugged,  rocky  home, 
O'er  which  the  Arnoot  loves  to  roam. 
His  sailing  ended,  then  he  lands — 
The  place  was  where  Ragusa  stands — 
And  here  recalling  to  his  mind 
The  scheme  he  had  at  first  designed, 
His  former  purpose  he  renews, 
Resolves  to  carry  out  hisjviews. 


A  poem.  ±:\ 

He  starts,  and  journeys  thence  by  land, 

Across  Sclavonic's  broken  strand, 

To  Gratz,  the  scat  of  Ferdinand, 

Archduke  of  Austria  at  the  time, 

Then  Emperor,  august,  sublime. 

A  numerous  circle  here  he  met 

Of  officers,  a  valiant  set, 

Connected  with  th'  Imperial  line, 

And  bent  upon  a  bold  design, 

Another  year  of  bloody  work, 

A  new  campaign  against  the  Turk. 

With  these  unto  Vienna  he 

Departed,  destined  soon  to  be 

In  active  services  employed, 

A  prospect  which  he  much  enjoyed. 

They  reach  the  capital,  and  hear 

On  every  side  the  voice  of  fear. 

For  news  has  come  from  Olympach, 

The  Ottomites  have  made  attack 

Against  the  place,  a  numerous  host, 

Full  twenty  thousand  strong  they  boast, 

The  garrison  must  succor  gain, 

Or  all  their  efforts  will  be  vain. 

A  force  that  numbers  half  of  those 

AYho  form  the  army  of  their  foes, 

Tin  thousand  soldiers,  hurry  on, 

With  Smith  among,  them,  to  the  town 

Beleaguered  by  the  enemy, 

To  aid  their  friends  in  getting  free. 


41:  A     VO\M. 

But  when  arrived,  they  learn  the  way 
Is  so  well  guarded  by  th'  array, 
The  serried  ranks  of  those  around, 
That  no  admittance  can  be  found, 
Nor  any  mode  to  them  is  known 
Of  holding  converse  with  their  own. 
Our  hero's  genius  now  appeared, 
For  such  emergency  prepared. 
For  he  before  Lord  Ebersbaught, 
Olympach's  governor,  had  taught, 
A  plan  of  telegraphic  signs, 
By  which  he  could  within  his  lines 
Convey  whatever  thought  he  would, 
Provided  on  some  height  he  stood 
Where  he  might  show  a  blazing  light, 
Whose  gleam  should  strike  upon  the  sight 
Of  those  who  formed  the  garrison 
Within  the  close-invested  town. 
This  circumstance  he  now  revealed, 
And  to  his  martial  chief  appealed  ■ 
That  he  this  method  might  attest, 
If  to  his  iudgment  it  seemed  best. 
The  chief  at  once  the  scheme  approved, 
And  had  him  thence  by  night  removed, 
Unto  a  lofty  mountain  height, 
Where  he  displayed  a  burning  light, 
And  by  a  mode,  ingenious,  new, 
This  message  flamed  upon  the  view 
Of  him  whose  gaze  was  thither  bent, 
To  whom  th'  expected  words  were  sent : 


A   POEM.  45 

"  A  charge  I'll  make,  on  Thursday  fright, 
Against  the  cast,  with  all  my  might; 
You  sally,  too,  when  we  appear, 
When  you  the  signal-g\m  shall  hear."" 
And  back  along  that  wire  of  flame, 
"  I  will,"  the  ready  answer  came. 


But  doubts  perplex  the  general  still,, 
And  numerous  fears,  misgivings  fill 
His  wavering,  anxious,  tortured  breast, 
About  the  settled  movement,  lest 
A  failure  should  the  plan  attend, 
A  shameful  and  abortive  end. 
A  second  time  our  hero  tries 
To  spread  before  his  chieftain's  eyes, 
A  picture  by  another  w~ay 
By  which  he  might  secure  the  day. 
His  quick  assent  he  also  yields 
To  this  proposal,  for  he  feels 
His  courage  straightened,  and  his  hopi 
Aroused,  anew  that  he  may  cope 
Successfully  with  all  his  foes. 
Their  vast  outnumbering  force  oppose. 
The  soldiers  forthwith  went  to  work, 
Concealed  from  vision  of  the  Turk, 
At  intervals  erected  posl 
And  thence  by  cords  suspended  hosts 
Of  huge  combustibles,  thick  strewn 
With  grains  of  powder  o'er  them  thrown. 


46  A   POEM. 

When  all  was  ready,  ere  the  fight 
Began  upon  that  dreadful  night, 
A  spark  to  these  was  set,  and  then 
They  fired  as  if  they  had  been  men. 
A  volley  as  of  musketeers 
Fell  suddenly  upon  the  ears 
Of  those  within  the  Turkish  lines, 
Forewarned  by  no  preceding  signs. 
By  this  device  misled,  deceived, 
The  Turks  poured  forth,  as  they  believed. 
To  meet  this  unexpected  foe, 
When  on  their  rear  a  stunning  blow 
Descended  from  the  armed  band 
Of  him  who  had  the  chief  command. 
Nor  they  alone  who  stood  without, 
But  those  within  the  town  rushed  out, 
Upon  the  Moslem  ranks  they  fell, 
With  furious,  wild,  and  savage  yell. 
Disorder  spread  through  all  the  host, 
Who  soon  gave  up  the  field  as  lost, 
And  siezcd  with  fear,  with  panic  flight, 
They  hastened  from  the  scene  of  fight. 
The  siege  is  raised,  the  place  is  free, 
And  chiefly  through  Smith's  agency, 
Who  due  promotion  thence  obtains, 
A  captain's  rank  and  title  gains. 


Behold  him  in  the  next  campaign 
Still  on  the  broad  Hungarian  plain, 


A    POEM.  47 

Commander  of  a  troop  of  horse. 
Co-operating  with  a  force 
That  numbered  thirty  thousand  strong, 
A  vast,  imposing,  martial  throng, 
Which,  full  of  energy  and  fire, 
And  burning  with  a  warm  desire 
To  smite  the  foe's  insulting  crest, 
And  from  his  iron  grasp  to  wrest 
Some  portion  of  his  ill-got  spoil, 
Expel  him  from  that  Christian  soil, 
No  longer  waits  for  his  attacks, 
But  boldly  on  th'  offensive  acts. 
To  Abba-Royal  siege  is  laid, 
A  place  by  art  and  nature  made 
Apparently  so  firm  and  strong 
As  to  resist  that  powerful  throng, 
Or  any  force  that  e'er  should  try 
Its  frowning  ramparts  towering  high. 
For  sixty  years  the  Islam  flag 
Had  streamed  above  its  lofty  crag, 
And  still  in  proud  defiance  waved  # 
Against  the  host  whose  wrath  it  braved. 
And  yet  it  fell,  the  dust  it  trailed, 
For  by  the  Christian  ranks  assailed 
That  fortress,  firm  and  strong,  at  length 
Gave  way  to  their  o'erpowering  strength. 
(  hir  hero,  ever  in  the  van, 
Or  furnished  with  some  skilful  plan, 
The  offspring  of  his  fertile  mind, 
Intent  new  strategems  to  find, 


L8  A    rnl'M. 

By  which  the  enemy  to  foil, 

Ensnare  him  in  some  fatal  toil, 

And  thus  an  easier  triumph  gain 

Than  simple  courage  could  obtain, 

Again  was  ready  with  his  art 

To  expedite  and  end  the  part 

"Which  he  and  his  were  there  to  play, 

And  largely  helped  to  -win  the  day. 

With  various  articles  he  made 

A  bomb,  or  species  of  grenade, 

An  ugly  and  destructive  thing, 

Which,  hurled  in  masses  from  a  sling, 

Like  fiery  dragons  seemed  to  bear 

Themselves  in  terror  through  the- air, 

And  falling  'mid  the  Moslem  crew 

Vast  numbers  either  maimed  or  slew. 

They  also  set  on  fire  the  town, 

Which  threw  a  glaring  blaze  around, 

Till  weakened,  battered,  stormed  and  burned, 

The  place  at  last  was  overturned. 

A  cry  is  heard  in  proud  Stamboul, 

For  ^ricf  has  pierced  the  Sultan's  soul, 

We  thought  the  cursed  infidel, 

More  odious  than  a  child  of  hell, 

Had  such  a  victory  obtained, 

Command  of  that  strong  city  gained. 

llesolving  to  retake  the  town, 

Without  delay  he  hastens  on 

A  large  and  overwhelming  host, 

Thrice  twenty  thousand  strong  they  boast, 


A    POEM,  49 

With  orders  to  surprise  the  foe, 

That  he  might  yield  without  a  blow. 

But  of  their  coming  well  advised, 

Determined  not  to  be  surprised, 

The  Christian  leader  boldly  marched 

To  meet  that  host  as  it  approached. 

Upon  the  plains  of  Girkc  the  two 

Opposing  armies  came  in  view. 

No  time  was  lost,  at  once  the  work 

Of  death  began  against  the  Turk, 

Nor  ended  till  that  mighty  host 

Before  them  melted  as  the  frost 

Dissolves  beneath  the  rising  sun — 

Another  victory  they  won. 

Yet  not  without  a  struggle  fierce 

Did  they  that  vast  array  disperse, 

And  many  on  the  Christian  side, 

As  well  as  Moslem,  fell  and  died. 

Our  hero,  Hushed  with  wild  delight, 

Was  all  day  foremost  in  the  fight, 

In  glittering  dress  and  arms  arrayed, 

His  head  a  snowy  plume  displayed, 

And,  like  the  valiant  knight  of  old, 

The  king  of  heart  so  brave  and  bold, 

For  strength  and  courage  named  the  Lion, 

Who  on  the  plains  of  Palestine 

So  oft  the  Christian  host  inspired, 

Till,  with  his  own  fierce  ardor  fired, 

With  eagle  swoop,  upon  the 

They  pounced,  and  quickly  laid  him  Ion  j 


50  A    P0E3L 

Or,  like  that  chieftain  dashing,  bolcL 
Who  on  the  plain  renowned  of  old- 
As  scene  of  many  a  bloody  nghtr 
Where  Tabor's  summit  greets  the  3iglit^ 
The  Gallic  banner  proudly  borey 
And  fought  as  Re  had  ne'er  beforer 
The  turbaned  skull  oft  clave  in  two 
With  his  good  trusty  blade  and  truer 
So  Smith  rode  o'er  that  awful  plainr 
And  many  by  his  hand  were  slain. 
High  o'er  the  rest  his  feather  shows. 
Beheld  alike  by  friends  and  foes,- 
And  long  as  gleaming  in  the  light 
That  snowy  plume  remained  in  sights 
It  served  each  Christian  heart  to  cheery 
To  every  Moslem  carried  fear. 
But  not  unharmed  did  he  survey 
The  scenes  of  that  momentous  day,. 
Of  which  he  was  a  leading  part, 
And  mark  of  many  a  Turkish  dart. 
His  noble  steed  sank  on  the  ground.. 
Himself  received  a  frightful  wound. 
Yet  not  unhorsed  he  long  remained, 
Nor  from  the  raging  fight  abstained^, 
For  easy  'twas  another  steed 
To  find  in  that  extreme  of  need, 
Since  many  wandered  o'er  the  plain, 
With  saddles  empty,  riders  slain, 
And  mounting  one  of  these  once  Biere 
His  figure  towered  as  before. 


Nor  from  the  Held  did  be  retire 
Till  ceased  tlie  battle's  roar  and  .fire. 


Another  winter  passing  round, 

Th'  ensuing  spring  our  hero  found — 

'Twas  sixteen  hundred  then  and  two, 

And  lie  a  youth  of  .twenty-two — 

Together  with  a  numerous  train 

Of  troops,  encamped  >on  the  plain, 

Which  in  the  front  of  Regal  lay, 

Among  the  mountains  far  away 

Where  Transylvania's  borders  run 

The  nearest  to  tire  rising  sun. 

A  numerous  Moslem  garrison, 

Well-furnished,  occupied  the  town* 

"The  Christian  araay  to  pursue 

Its  course  of  conquest,  had  in  view 

The  capture  #f  .this  powerful  hold, 

Which  neaped  aloft  its  aspeot  bold. 

The  siege  began,  but  -as  the  Turks 

Perceived  the  slowness  -of  the  works, 

Their  breasts  were  filled  with  scornful  pride, 

They  mount  the  ramparts  and  deride 

The  Christian  dogs,  and  at  them  hoot, 

Exclaiming,  "Why  so  loth  to  shoot? 

Your  idle  guns,  it  strikes  our  eyes, 

For  want  of  proper  exercise, 

Are  growing  wondrous  fat  and  large, 

Their  loads  too  lazy  to  -discharge." 


:>*  :v  POEM. 

A  Moslem  oilicer  at  length, 
A  man  of  giant  form  and  strength, 
Like  him  of  Gath,  who  in  his  pridi 
The  host  of  Israel's  God  defied, 
But  fell  hefore  the  little  stone 
Against  his  brow  by  David  thrown,, 
That  he  the  ladies  might  delight, 
Who  longed  to  view  some  novel  sight,. 
Some  scene  of  pastime  or  of  sport, 
Like  those  enacted  at  the  court, 
A  challenge  sent  unto  his  foes,. 
Daring  their  champion  to  oppose 
Himself  upon  the  open  field, 
To  fight  till  one  should  fall  or  yield. 
This  message  roused  the  Christians'  ire, 
Their  leaders  burned  with  hot  desire 
To  meet  that  proud,  defiant  lord, 
And  make  him  rue  his  haughty  word- 
All  equal  in  ambition,  pride, 
By  lot  alone  could  they  decide 
"Which  of  their  number  forth  should  go 
To  measure  weapons  with  the  foe. 
The  wheel  of  fortune  makes  a  turn, 
Its  issues  watched  with  deep  concern.. 
And  from  the  secrets  it  conceals 
Our  hero's  name  at  length  reveals.. 
The  point  is  settled  thereupon 
That  he  shall  be  their  champion. 


A    POEM.  5S 

The  day  is  fixed,  the  time  arrives, 

The  two  have  staked  their  precious  lives, 

And  all  are  eager  to  behold 

The  meeting  0f  those  warriors  bold. 

Upon  the  ramparts  of  the  town 

Appeared  the  Turkish  garrison, 

A  brilliant  and  imposing  throng, 

A  line  extending  far  along, 

Displaying  many  gentle  forms 

Of  women  in  their  gayest  charms, 

Whose  presence,  smiles,  and  favoring  gaze, 

The  wish  and  hope  to  gain  their  praise, 

Were  motives  in  their  champion's  heart 

To  act  successfully  his  part. 

But  more  than  all  the  Moslem  name, 

The  Crescent's  honor,  cause,  and  fame, 

Were  now  to  be  by  him  sustained, 

Against  t\i  opposing  Cross  maintained. 

Nor  less  was  stirred  our  hero's  heart 

With  honor  to  perform  his  part, 

Although  no  sweetly  beaming  eyes, 

Like  stars  that  glitter  in  the  skies, 

Which  in  their  courses  once  o'erthrcw 

Proud  Siscra  and  his  pagan  crew, 

Their  kindling  influence  on  him  shed, 

As  he  went  forth  to  risk  his  head. 

Hut  what  perhaps  was  dearer  far 

To  him,  bo  fund  of  glorious  war, 

Its  pomp,  its  pride,  and  circumstance. 

As  are  the  martial  sons  of  France, 


54  a  poem. 

The  Christian  troops,  in  bright  array, 

Were  all  in  order  ranged  that  day, 

And  stood  intently  gazing  on 

Himself  their  chosen  champion, 

The  cause  of  every  Christian  land 

By  them  intrusted  to  his  hand. 

The  signal  given,  Smith  mounts  his  steed, 

And  sallies  out  with  proper  speed, 

Attended  by  a  single  page, 

The  bearer  of  his  lance,  t'  engage 

His  Moslem  rival,  should  he  come* 

Do  battle  for  all  Christendom, 

Alike  with  love  of  glory  fired, 

And  with  religious  zeal  inspired. 

Precisely  at  that  moment  too 

Lord  Turbashaw  appeared  in  view,, 

A  brilliant,  showy,  gorgeous  sight,, 

His  armor  glistening  in  the  light,. 

His  horse  a  noMe  fiery  steedr 

One  of  the  best  of  Tartar  breed, 

Adorned  with  trappings  rich  and  bright, 

Whose  points  and  streaks  of  silvery  white 

From  bridle,  saddle,  crupper  shone, 

And  dazzling  Hashed,  as  he  came  on_ 

A  Janizary  in  advance 

Was  seen  to  bear  his  glittering  lance, 

Another  on  each  side  to  lead 

His  ardent,  fierce,  high-mettled  steed. 

But  that  which  chiefly  caught  the  eye 

Was  something  splendid,  towering  high 


A    POEM.  55 

Above  the  rider's  lofty  frame, 

"Which  proved,  as  on  he  nearer  came, 

A  pair  of  epaulets  or  wings, 

Gigantic,  unexampled  things, 

Of  eagle's  feathers  firmly  placed 

Within  a  silver  ridge,  and  faced, 

Or  richly  studded  here  and  there 

With  gold  and  precious  stones  most  rare. 

Nor  yet  in  silence  did  he  go, 

Thus  dressed,  to  meet  his  Christian  foe, 

But  with  a  loud  and  cheering  sound 

Of  haut-boys  echoing  far  around. 

Assuming  each  his  proper  place, 

Our  hero,  with  true  knightly  grace, 

A  salutation  first  addressed 

Unto  his  rival,  and  expressed 

The  pleasure  which  it  gave  his  heart, 

In  such  a  scene  to  bear  a  part. 

Then,  as  he  heard  the  trumpet  sound, 

He  spurred  his  horse,  and  with  a  bound 

Against  the  foe  so  highly  flushed 

With  pride  and  hope,  he  forward  rushed. 

The  other  two,  with  equal  speed, 

Urged  on  his  gallant,  fiery  steed, 

Till,  like  two  mighty  ships  that  flee, 

Mid  storm  and  darkness,  o'er  the  sea, 

And  meet  with  dread,  terrific  crash, 

While  ruin  follows  from  the  clash, 

Those  warriors  met  upon  the  plain, 

Each  bent  the  laurel  to  obtain. 


56  A   POEM; 

A  shock  of  death,  a  fatal  work 
It  proved  unto  the  boastful  Turk. 
Our  hero's  lance  ran  through  his  brain — 
He  fell,  and  never  breathed  again. 
But  Smith  escaped  ■without  a  wound, 
And  then  alighting  on  the  ground, 
He  from  its  trunk  the  Moslem's  head, 
Ghastly  and  crimsoned  o'er  with  red, 
Dissevered,  and  in  triumph  bore 
,Thc  token  of  his  victory  o'er 
The  open,  wide-extended  plain, 
Until  he  reached  his  friends  again. 

Grief  spread  through  all  the  Moslem  host, 

When. they  beheld  their  champion  lost, 

But  one  more  warmly  than  the  rest 

To  him  attached,  felt  in  his  breast 

A  vengeful  ire,  a  boiling  rage, 

An  earnest  longing  to  engage 

The  victor  of  his  vanquished  friend, 

The  author  of  his  mournful  end. 

Grualgo  was  the  name  he  bore, 

And  with  a  dreadful  oath  he  swore 

He  would  revenge  his  comrade's  death, 

Or  falling  too,  yield  up  his  breath. 

Thus  on  retaliation  bent, 

He  to  our  hero. quickly  sent 

A  special  challenge  him  to  meet 

Upon  the  field,  and  there  repeat 

The  single  combat,  till  defeat 


a  poi^w.  57 

On  one  or  other  should  descend, 
And  to  the  contest  put  an  end. 
This  challenge  he  accepted  too, 
And  duly  both  appeared  in  view. 
Again  the  trumpets  pealed  a  blast, 
When  each  upon  the  other  cast 
A  transient  look,  a  scowling  glance 
Of  vengeance,  then  with  couched  lance 
They  onward  flew  to  battle  fierce, 
And  sought  each  other's  heart  to  pierce. 
But  such  the  fury  of  the  shock, 
Their  spears  were  shivered  like  a  rock, 
When  bursting  with  a  thundering  sound, 
Its  shattered  fragments  fly  around. 
Next  moment  both  their  pistols  raised, 
And. fired — the  Moslem's  shot  just  grazed 
The  ear  of  Smith,  and  whizzing  brushed 
His  bushy  locks,  as  on  it  rushed. 
He  to  his  foe  did  greater  harm, 
A  ball  he  planted  in  his  arm, 
That  forced  him  to  relax  the  hold, 
By  which  he  reined  his  charger  bold, 
Who  reared,  and  plunged,  and  wheeled 

around, 
And  dashed  his  rider  to  the  ground. 

instant  more  our  hero's  blade 
A  headless  trunk  his  frame  I  le  ; 

Then  leaving  there  his  b!  :se, 

He  bore  away  head,  an.:  .  horse. 


58  A   POEM. 

Elated,  flushed,  our  hero  now, 
With  doubled  wreath  upon  his  brow, 
The  weary  hours  to  pass  away 
Which  heavy  hung  from  day  to  day, 
A  message  to  the  ladies  sent, 
Who  for  the  slain  made  loud  lament, 
That  he  was  not  so  deeply  moved 
With  charms  of  those  by  them  beloved, 
But  that  he  would  those  heads  restore 
Which  he  had  captured  theretofore, 
If  that  another  champion 
To  ransom  those  would  risk  his  own. 
This  challenge  was  at  once  assumed 
By  one,  with  burning  wrath  consumed, 
A  man  of  huge  and  stalwart  frame, 
Who  bore  the  somewhat  comic  name 
Of  Bonny  Mulgro,  and  so  feared 
The  skill  with  which  our  hero  speared 
His  adversaries  on  the  field, 
That  he  declined  the  lance  to  wield : 
With  pistol,  battle-axe,  and  sword 
Alone  would  fight,  and  thus  sent  word. 
Our  hero  yielded  his  consent, 
And  with  these  arms  alone  he  went 
To  meet  again  his  opponent. 
The  scene  of  conflict  was  the  same 
Where  he  had  gained  his  recent  fame, 
And  on  the  ramparts  of  the  town 
Once  more  appeared  the  garrison, 


A    POEM.  59 

With  many  ladies  fair  and  bright, 

To  gaze  upon  the  approaching  fight. 

Due  courtesies  they  first  exchange, 

Then,  standing  within  pistol  range, 

They  fire  their  pieces,  but  in  vain, 

Next  fall  to  work  with  might  and  main. 

With  pondrous  battle-axes  aim 

To  hack  and  hew  each  other's  frame. 

Our  hero  from  his  powerful  foe 

At  length  received  a  stunning  blow, 

Which  nearly  hurled  him  from  his  seat — 

His  battle-axe  fell  at  his  feet. 

His  star,  it  now  appears,  must  set, 

His  equal  he  at  last  has  met, 

Before  whose  prowess  he  must  yield, 

And  lose  the  honors  of  the  field. 

A  shout  of  triumph  rose  aloud 

From  Regal's  sympathizing  crowd, 

While  through  the  Christian  ranks  there  swept 

A  shuddering  groan,  and  many  wept 

As  if  their  champion's  race  was  o'er, 

And  they  should  never  see  him  more. 

But  in  a  moment  all  was  changed, 

The  Moslem  fortunes  were  deranged, 

Again  the  sun  of  victory  shone 

Upon  the  Christian  arms  alone. 

Our  hero  straightened  up  once  more, 

And  rose  as  proudly  as  before. 

His  horse,  obedient  to  his  will, 

He  managed  with  surprising  skill, 


6(1  A    POEM. 

Avoided,  parried  every  blow 
Proceeding  from  his  eager  foe, 
Then  drawing  forth  his  falchion, 
lie  pierced  the  Turkish  champion, 
And  as  he  had  twice  done  before, 
His  head  in  triumph  thence  he  bore. 


The  Christian  host,  with  loud  applause, 
Greeted  the  champion  of  their  cause, 
Whose  single,  stout,  and  sinewy  arm, 
Had  to  the  Moslems  done  more  harm, 
Than  if  a  thousand  forth  had  a*one 
To  meet  the  foe  instead  of  one. 
Hence  admiration,  joy,  and  pride 
Swelled  every  bosom  on  their  side, 
And  with  spontaneous,  wild  huzza, 
They  rent  the  air  when  him  they  saw 
His  third  and  last  opponent  slay, 
And  victor  bear  his  head  away, 
And  as  he  slowly  crossed  the  plain, 
With  shouts  received  him  back  again. 
Resolved  that  one  so  bold  and  brave 
Due  honor  and  reward  should  have, 
Six  thousand  troops,  with  one  consent, 
Conduct  him  to  the  General's  tent, 
While  in  the  front  three  steeds  are  led, 
Before  each  horse  a  Moslem'  head 
Upon  a  lance  is  borne  along — 
A  joyous  and  triumphal  throng, 


A    POEM.  61 

The  chieftain,  with  a  gladsome  face, 
Received  him  to  his  warm  embrace, 
Then  gave  him  more  substantial  meed, 
A  fair  and  richly  furnished  steed, 
A  costly  belt  and  scimitar, 
A  weapon  used  in  eastern  war, 
While  he  a  higher  grade  attained, 
A  major's  rank  and  title  gained. 
And  when  at  length  proud  Regal  fell, 
Mid  scenes  of  horror  fit  for  hell, 
When  darkness  had  obscured  the  field, 
But  for  the  light  the  guns  did  yield, 
A  generous  prince,  Sigismund  named, 
For  noble,  virtuous  actions  famed, 
Smith's  exploits  coming  to  his  ear, 
So  joyed  such  wondrous  deeds  to  hear, 
That  in  his  liberality, 
A  patent  of  nobility, 
A  portrait  of  himself  in  gold, 
(The  half  as  yet  is  scarcely  told) 
A  richly  ornamented  shield, 
With  three  Turk's  heads  within  the  field, 
And  pension  that  would  yearly  yield 
A  handsome  sum,  to  him  he  gave — 
Such  are  the  laurels  of  the  brave. 

From  Transylvania  now  expelled. 
The  Moslems  still  Wallachia  held. 
Ami  thither  marched  the  Christian  chief, 

Elated  with  the  vain  belief, 


62  A    POEM. 

Engendered  by  his  late  success, 

A  feeling  which  he  oft  expressed, 

That  no  collection  of  his  foes, 

However  great,  could  him  oppose. 

A  common  error — such  an  one, 

That  even  the  great  Napoleon 

Was  in  its  fatal  meshes  snared, 

When  in  his  pride  he  madly  dared 

O'er  Russia's  dreary  wastes  to  lead 

His  bannered  hosts,  by  heaven  decreed 

To  fall  beneath  her  wintry  snows, 

More  dreadful  than  their  human  foes. 

But  in  the  conduct  of  the  war 

Our  hero  proved  a  guiding  star, 

Whose  influence  long  his  chief  restrained, 

And  many  victories  were  gained. 

On  numerous  fields  he  bravely  fought, 

And  prodigies  of  valor  wrought, 

While  ne'er  before  his  genius  shone 

With  brighter  lustre  and  renown. 

Expedients  oft  he  multiplied 

By  which  the  battle  to  decide, 

Such  various  arts  and  skill  displayed, 

His  friends  were  joyed,  his  foes  dismayed, 

And  triumph  after  triumph  shed 

Fresh  fame  and  glory  on  his  head. 

At  length  a  victory  was  gained, 

Surpassing  all  before  obtained, 

And  as  in  former  cases  too, 

Was  mainly  to  our  hero  due. 


A    POEM.  63 

But  then,  beyond  all  reason  flushed, 

The  Christian  leader  blindly  rushed 

Into  a  snare  or  ambuscade, 

Among  wild  mountain  passes  laid. 

As  when  a  prey  to  Indian  wiles, 

Amid  the  narrow  deep  defiles 

Of  Alleghany's  rugged  chain, 

Proud  Braddock  and  his  band  were  slain. 

An  issue  which  had  ne'er  occurred, 

Had  he  to  Washington  deferred, 

His  prudent  counsel  made  his  guide, 

Instead  of  scorning  in  his  pride. 

Nor  had  that  other  chief  been  snared, 

With  all  who  then  his  fortunes  snared, 

If  he  to  Smith  had  given  ear, 

His  words  of  caution  deigned  to  hear. 

But  so  it  v.  as,  the  Christian  host 

Surprised,  were  almost  wholly  lost. 

Yet  not  like  dastards  did  they  yield, 

Surrendering  at  once  the  field, 

But  with  heroic  courage  met 

The  sudden,  bold,  and  fierce  onset, 

Which,  like  an  unexpected  blow, 

Proceeded  from  the  hidden  foe. 

Aloud  they  raised  their  battle-cry, 

Resolved  that  if  foredoomed  to  die, 

They  would  their  lives  most  dearly  sell, 

Ami  wreak  their  vengeance,  ere  they  fell. 

'Twas  thus  our  own  Southwestern  braves 

Mid  heaps  of  slaughtered  made  their  graves, 


64  A    POEM. 

When,  overpowered  by  the  foe, 

They  fell  within  the  Alamo. 

So  fought  that  Christian  army  then, 

"Within  that  narrow  mountain  glen, 

A  bloody  struggle  long  maintained, 

Nor  from  the  deadly  fight  abstained, 

Till  friend  and  foe,  together  slain, 

Some  thirty  thousand  strewed  the  plain. 

And  when  at  length  the  battle  ceased, 

The  Christian  ranks  were  so  decreased, 

That,  of  their  numerous  friends  bereft, 

But  thirteen  hundred  men  were  left, 

And  these  alone  escaped  to  tell 

HowT  on  that  field  their  comrades  fell. 

A  sad  and  mournful  story  they 

Belated  of  that  awful  day 

For  there  the  bravest  and  the  best 

Of  Transylvania  sank  to  rest. 

A  numerous  band  of  noblemen, 

With  many  gallant  gentlemen, 

Of  Christendom  the  pride  and  flower, 

Encountered  then  their  final  hour. 

Among  the  rest  nine  Englishmen, 

Our  hero's  native  countrymen, 

Upon  that  fatal  field  lay  dead, 

O'er  whom  the  friendly  tear  hear  he  shed, 

Eor  sake  of  Christ  and  his  good  cause, 

The  gospel  and  its  holy  laws. 

Bravely  and  long  their  ground  they  stoo< 

Achieved  whate'er  their  valor  could, 


A   POEM.  65 

And  when  unable  to  do  more, 
Their  mortal  race  at  last  was  o'er, 
They  left  their  bodies  thcro  to  prove 
Their  christian  courage,  faith  and  love. 
Such  is  the  tribute  of  Smith's  pen 
To  his  lamented  countrymen. 
JTo,  too,  their  fate  had  nearly  shared, 
Though  heaven  his  life  in  mercy  spared, 
For,  suffering  with  a  horrid  wound, 
He  lay  extended  on  the  ground, 
Mid  many  a  gasping  soul  around, 
Supposed  to  be  among  the  dead, 
When  thence  the  Christian  remnant  (led. 


CANTO   III. 

Pursue  we  still  a  saddened  strain, 
For,  roaming  o'er  that  narrow  plain 
In  quest  of  plunder,  cast  the  view 
Upon  a  hardened,  desperate  crew, 
Who  strip  alike  the  dead  and  dying, 
Insensible  to  pain  and  crying, 
Like  ravening  wolves,  or  birds  of  prey, 
Mere  beasts  in  human  form  are  they. 
As  vulture-like  the  field  they  hover, 
Our  hero  they  at  length  discover, 
Arrayed  in  armor  rich  and  bright, 
An  object  pleasing  to  their  sight. 
Impressed  from  thence  with  supposition, 
That  he  had  held  a  high  position, 
Some  officer  of  noble  birth, 
Whose  ransom  would  to  them  be  worth 
A  large  amount,  they  spare  his  life, 
And  bear  him  from  that  scene  of  strife. 
A  prisoner  to  a  neighboring  town, 
Where  kept,  till  all  their  hopes  had  f  own 
That  he  would  be  by  friends  redeemed, 
And  from  his  wounds  recovered  seemed, 
They  placed  him  on  the  block,  and  sold 
His  christian  flesh  for  Moslem  gold. 
A  dealer  in  the  human  frame 
His  ready  purchaser  became. 


A    POEM.  (^ 

Around  his  neck  he  threw  a  chain, 
And  bound  him  to  a  numerous  train 
Of  other  slaves,  who,  two  and  two, 
Defiled  before  their  master's  view 
Then  marched,  a  long-extending  gang, 
To  music  of  their  fetters  clang, 
To  Adrianople,  there  to  be 
Re-sold  into  captivity. 
An  Ottoman  who  bore  the  name 
Of  Bashaw  Bogal,  next  became 
His  owner,  moved  with  the  intent 
The  Christian  captive  to  present 
To  one  before  whose  shrine  he  knelt, 
His  beauteous  lady-love,  who  dwelt 

Within  Constantinople's  walls, 

An  occupant  of  princely  halls. 

Charatza  Banda  was  her  name, 

For  whom  a  lively,  ardent  flame 

He  cherished,  and  thus  sought  to  prove 

The  depth  and  fervor  of  his  love. 

Thither  he  therefore  sent  our  Smith 

To  be  her  slave,  accompanied  with 

The  boastful,  false,  high-sounding  word, 

That  he,  a  great  Bohemian  lord, 

Had  to  himself  been  forced  to  yield 

Upon  the  recent  battle-field. 


He  reached  vt  kfigtb  hie  domination, 
A  menial's  low,  degraded  station. 


68  A    POEM. 

But  struck  with  his  heroic  mien, 
Surpassing  all  she  e'er  had  seen, 
His  mistress  felt  for  him  compassion, 
Which  soon  became  a  wilder  passion. 
For  in  a  language,  soft  and  sweet, — 
Italian — tongue  supremely  meet 
For  all  the  uses  of  a  lover, 
The  heart's  emotions  to  discover, 
She  held  with  him  communication, 
And  questioned  him  about  his  station, 
Whether  in  truth  he  were  a  lord, 
According  to  the  Bashaw's  word. 
With  frankness  he  at  once  confessed 
That  he  had  never  been  addressed 
As  such,  or  any  other  than 
A  plain,  untitled  Englishman, 
Devoted  to  the  martial  art, 
And  wont  to  act  a  soldier's  part. 
Moreover,  that  the  said  Bashaw, 
Till  purchased  by  him,  he  ne'er  saw. 
She  then  to  him  preferred  request, 
An  earnest,  warm  desire  expressed, 
That  unto  her  he  would  relate, 
The  story  of  his  former  fate, 
The  different  countries  he  had  seen, 
And  every  strange,  adventurous  scene, 
In  which  he  had  an  actor  been. 
lie  yielded,  and  like  him  of  yore, 
Who  all  his  deeds  recounted  o'er 


A    POEM.  ($ 

To  Dido's  listening,  pleased  car, 
"Who  eager  bent  cacli  word  to  hear, 
To  her  detailed  bis  wondrons  story, 
His  travels,  toils,  and  feats  of  glory. 
So  with  his  marvellous  tale  the  Moor, 
Though  black  and  ugly  as  a  boor, 
Fair  Dcsdemona  captive  led, 
Till  she  consented  him  to  wed. 
Thus  by  our  hero's  story  moved, 
The  fair  Charatza  sighed  and  loved, 
Declared  her  faith  that  all  was  true, 
Which  he  unfolded  to  her  view. 
His  image  ever  in  her  breast, 
By  day  nor  night  she  could  not  rest. 
Whatc'er  she  did,  where'er  she  turned 
The  fire  of  love  within  her  burned. 
Slow  passed  away  the  hours  of  light, 
More  slowly  still  the  weary  night. 
She  seeks  her  couch,  but  seeks  in  vain. 
Hers  is  a  feverish,  throbbing  brain, 
And  from  her  presence  slumber  ilies, 
As  balmy  influence  seals  her  eyes. 
Oh  !  the  sweet  bliss,  the  pain  of  love, 
How  mortal  bosoms  swell  and  move, 
When  they  its  potent  workings  prove. 
Thus  felt  the  I  .: an 

When  she  the  Trojan  prince  had  .-een. 
Her  heart  a  bill  •  became, 

The  scat  of  passion's  raging  flame 


70  a  poem. 

Which,  fuel  being  not  supplied, 
Consumed  herself,  until  she  died. 
And  thus  within  the  Turkish  maid 
A  restless,  burning  passion  preyed, 
Awakened  by  that  beauteous  man, 
The  captive,  menial  Englishman. 
On  him  with  deep  delight  she  gazed, 
Admired  his  form,  his  features  praised, 
And  nearer  to  him  she  often  drew, 
And  many  a  secret  interview 
For  conversation  with  him  held — 
The  happy  lovers  none  beheld. 
.    But  apprehensive  lest  her  mother 
Her  fondness  for  him  should  discover, 
Remove  him  from  his  servile  station, 
And  place  eternal  separation 
Between  them,  she  a  jealous  lover, 
In  haste  dispatched  him  to  her  brother, 
A  dweller  in  Crim  Tartary, 
Upon  the  borders  of  the  sea 
Of  AzofT,  making  in  a  letter 
Request  that  he  would  so  oblige  her 
As  to  receive  the  Christian  slave, 
And  generous  treatment  let  him  have: 
Avowing  that  while  him  she  sent 
Unto  his  charge,  she  only  meant 
That  he  should  there  such  time  sojourn, 
As  would  suffice  for  him  to  learn 
The  proper  use  of  Turkish  tongue, 
And  ways  of  those  he  was  among, 


A    POEM.  71 

Till  she  in  season  should  become 
The  mistress  of  herself  and  home ; 
Intending  doubtless  then  to  call 
Him  back  again  unto  her  hall, 
And  yielding  up  to  him  her  all, 
Make  him  the  sovereign  of  her  house, 
And  be  his  loving,  happy  spouse — 
A  vision  destined  soon  to  fade, 
And  vanish,  like  a  passing  shade. 

The  scenes  we  therefore  shift  again ; 
Once  more  behold  him  on  the  main ; 
Byzantium  from  his  view  recedes, 
As  on  his  voyage  he  proceeds. 
Northward  the  vessel's  course  is  bent, 
On  either  hand  a  continent, 
Unfolding  many  a  lovely  scene, 
As  he  is  borne  along  between. 
Then  entering  on  a  broader  sheet, 
His  eyes  the  Euxine's  waters  greet, 
And  favoured  with  propitious  gales, 
The  bark  upon  its  surface  sails, 
Till  he  his  destination  gains, 
Taurida's  storm-beat  shore  attains. 
Here  fable  placed  eternal  night, 
Where  never  shown  the  pleasant  light. 
Bere  Winter  reigned  throughout  the  year, 
And  nought  existed  that  could  cheer. 
A  land  of  oannibftk  and  giants, 
A  race  obedient  to  their  tyrant  -. 


72  A    POKM. 

A  monster  king  as  e'er  was  seen, 

And  savage  Amazonian  queen, 

Who,  when  Ulysses  much-enduring, 

His  wandering  voyage  still  pursuing, 

Approached  and  landed  on  their  coast, 

Commanded  forth  a  mighty  host, 

Who  seized  his  ships,  the  men  o'erpowcred, 

Their  bodies  then  as  fish  devoured, 

While  in  a  single  bark  but  he, 

And  those  it  bore,  regained  the  sea. 

Here  was  the  cradle  of  the  Celt, 

Here  oft  the  shock  of  war  was  felt. 

A  hundred  nations  here  have  fought, 

A  thousand  changes  have  been  wrought,  * 

And,  latest  in  the  scene  or  story, 

Figure  those  fields  of  martial  glory, 

Where,  with  the  Autocrat  contending, 

Britain  and  Gaul  their  forces  blending, 

Repelled  the  foe,  or  onset  made, 

His  august  port  in  ruins  laid. 


Delivered  to  Charatza's  brother, 
Reception  Smith  obtained  far  other 
Than  in  his  vision  he  had  thought, 
Which  hope  and  fancy  oft  had  wrought. 
For  scarce  had  he  perused  the  letter 
Transmitted  to  him  by  his  sister, 
When  indignation  fired  his  soul, 
Which  burned  as  if  beyond  control. 


A     POEM.  7  3 


Suspicion  flashed  across  his  mind 

Regarding  that  which  she  designed. 

The  love  and  plan  which  she  concealed, 

Her  own  epistle  but  revealed. 

Enraged  at  the  discovery, 

The  object  of  her  passion  ho 

Surveyed  with  hate  and  jealousy, 

Nor  could  his  haughty  spirit  brook 

Our  hero's  noble,  daring  look. 

Himself  alone,  untrammelled,  free, 

All  others  must  obedient  be 

To  his  despotic  tyranny ; 

With  meekness,  too,  their  yoke  must  bear, 

And  by  their  outward  looks  and  air 

Their  inward  lowliness  express, 

Subjection  to  his  will  confess. 

And  if,  a  stranger  to  his  rule, 

Like  new  disciple  come  to  school, 

Another's  brought  to  be  his  slave, 

Of  spirit  loft}*,  daring,  brave, 

He  snuffs  rebellion  in  the  breeze, 

Resistance  in  his  eyes  he  sees, 

Trembles  for  his  monopoly 

Of  honor,  pride,  and  liberty, 

Resolves  at  once  to  vindicate 

The  terror  of  his  high  estate, 

Such  temper  to  subdue  and  break, 

And  with  appropriate  measures  in;ike 

The  creature  in  his  presence  quake, 


74  A    VOL 

Till,  sunk  in  shame  and  degradation, 

He  loses  every  aspiration 

For  freedom  and  higher  station. 

With  feelings  such  as  these  the  Turk 

Upon  our  hero  went  to  work, 

Commandment  first  he  therefore  gave 

That  he  should  undergo  a  shave, 

Which  operation  stripped  him  barc7 

Left  head  and  face  without  a  hair, 

Direction  unto  that  succeeded, 

That  he  should  wholly  be  denuded, 

Which  done,  a  coat  of  undressed  hide 

Was  to  his  body  then  applied. 

His  neck  was  girt  with  iron  band, 

Or  ring,  which  bore  his  master's  brand, 

''Now  go,  you  cursed  dog,"  he  said, 

"  Perform  the  task  that 's  on  you  laid, 

Remember  I'm  your  sovereign  lord, 

And  if  I  ever  hear  a  word 

From  those  base  Christian  lips  of  thine, 

In  answer  to  command  of  mine, 

I'll  teach  your  rotten  flesh  to  feel 

The  power  with  which  you  have  to  deal." 

With  listening  car  the  charge  he  heeded, 

Then  to  his  servile  work  proceeded. 

A  tide  of  thoughts  coursed  through  his  soul: 

"  Is  it,"  he  asked,  "  the  only  goal 

Of  my  adventurous,  daring  flight, 

On  this  Tartarian  shore  to  light? 


A    POEM,  7,5 

Ana  I,  a  free-born  Englishman, 

To  crouch  before  an  Ottoman? 
And  Christian  too,  to  be  the  slave 
Of  tin's  imperious  Moslem  knave: 
Oh !  bitter,  hard  and  cruel  fate, 
To  be  reduced  to  such  a  state." 


Wealthy  and  powerful,  high  in  station, 
The  Timour  had  a  large  plantation, 
A  vast,  extensive  tract  of  land, 
Which  stretched  for  miles  along  the  strand, 
And  three  leagues  inward  from  the  sea 
That  eastward  lies  of  the  Crimea. 
A  numerous  band,  with  slavish  toil, 
Obeyed  his  orders,  tilled  his  soil, 
Of  whom  the  greater  part  by  far 
Were  Christian  captives,  fruits  of  war. 
Some  old,  some  young,  some  single,  married, 
All  there  by  force  detained,  long  tarried 
Away  from  country,  home,  and  wife, 
And  passed  a  sad,  embittered  life. 
Seantv  their  fare,  and  such  their  meat 
A  hungry  dog  would  scarcely  i 
Their  j  nd  their  lodging  mean, 

As  e'er  in  any  hind  wer. 
But  worse  than  shelter,  dre  i, 

n  di<  d  with  bloi  d 
Added  to  tb  '     re, 

<  hir  Smith  received  no  ] 


7<)  A    POEM". 

But  Laving  come  the  last  of  all. 

Was  rather  treated  with,  more  gall 

And  Bfutal  rigor  than  the  rest, 

With  true  Egyptian  rule  oppressed. 

Yet  still  a  star  of  hope  oft  shed 

A  cheering  ray  upon  his  head, 

As  through  the  thick  and  gloomy  night 

It  shone  afar  in  splendor  bright. 

That  star  Charatza  glowed  and  burned, 

To  whom  alone  his  mind  was  turned, 

For  influence  that  should  set  him  free, 

Restore  him  unto  liberty. 

"Surely,"  he  thought,  "she  docs  not  know, 

That  I  am  shamed  and  treated  so, 

Else  would  her  love  my  fetters  shiver, 

And  from  this  bondage  me  deliver." 

With  various  plans  he  racked  his  brain, 

By  which  escape  from  thence  to  gain, 

But  all  alike  seemed  hopeless,  vain. 

Those  fellow-christians,  too,  addressed, 

Who  had  been  longest  there  oppressed, 

His  wishes  unto  them  related, 

And  with  them  oft  the  point  debated, 

Whether  it  were  not  possible 

To  fly  from  that  terrestrial  hell. 

But  with  one  voice  they  all  agreed, 

No  scheme  of  flight  could  e'er  succeed. 

The  captured  lion  in  his  cage 
Is  awful  in  his  roar  and  rage. 


A   POEM.  <  ( 

The  tiger  is  a  fearful  sight, 

When  he  inflamed  displays  his  might. 

But  more  terrific  far  than  they, 

Or  any  other  beast  of  prey, 

Became  that  Christian  captive  there, 

Fired  with  hate,  and  maddened  by  despair. 

Maltreated,  spurned  from  day  to  day, 

His  self-command  at  times  gave  way, 

When,  in  a  fierce,  desponding  mood, 

His  heart  would  vent  a  fiery  flood 

Of  passion,  an  eruption  dread 

As  e'er  poured  forth  from  mountain-head. 

While  in  a  distant  barn  engaged 

In  threshing  grain,  he  grew  enraged. 

A  fit  of  madness  o'er  him  came — 

He  raved,  and  cursed  the  Timour's  name. 

It  chanced  just  then  that  the  Bashaw 

Approaching  towards  the  house  he  saw. 

lie  entered,  and  at  once  began 

To  beat,  revile  the  Englishman, 

The  object  of  his  special  hate, 

And  subject  of  more  cruel  fate 

Than  any  other  slave  he  had, 

However  wayward,  vicious,  bad. 

•  ugh  such  had  been  his  usual  way, 
His  practice  almost  every  day. 
Yet  now'his  words  and-bloi  >re 

.  hard,  than  e'er  before. 
A  keeni  •  of  degradation, 


7's  A    POEM. 

A  livelier  hatred  of  his  station, 
A  deeper,  fiercer  indignation, 
Sprung  up  within  the  captive's  soul, 
And  lost  to  thoughts  of  self-control, 
Or  consequence  that  might  ensue 
From  what  he  was  about  to  do, 
He  raised  his  bat,  and  gave  a  blow 
That  laid  the  odious  tyrant  low, 
And  sent  his  ghost  to  realms  below. 

Released  and  free  by  this  bold  deed, 
Behold  him  mount  a  fiery  steed, 
And  like  Mazeppa  in  his  flight, 
Depart  and  vanish  out  of  sight. 
Collected,  calm,  he  looked  around, 
And  chose  such  objects  as  he  found. 
The  splendid  dress  he  made  his  own, 
In  which  arrayed  the  Timour  shone. 
The  body  of  the  dead  Bashaw 
He  hid  beneath  a  heap  of  straw. 
He  filled  with  corn  an  empty  sack, 
And  closed  the  door  behind  his  back. 
Then  mounting  his  late  master's  steed, 
He  left  the  hated  spot  with  speed. 
A  stranger  to  the  country  round, 
Ko  path  that  led  from  thence  he  found, 
But  blindly  wandered  here  and  there, 
A  prey  to  fear  and  black  despair. 
Still  in  the  last  extremity, 
Like  Jews  of  old  at  the  Bed  Sea, 


a  roiai.  79 

It  pleased  Jehovah  him  to  show 
A  road  by  which  lie  thence  might  go. 
This  way  was  called  the  Castragan, 
Which  through  those  boundless  steppes  ran, 
And  lest  the  traveller  should  stray, 
And  erring  lose  his  proper  way, 
At  every  crossing  there  were  placed 
Guide-boards  so  pointed,  marked  and  faced, 
As  to  direct  the  inquiring  one, 
How  he  should  rightly  journey  on. 
A  half-moon  figure  signified 
Crimland,  and  thither  served  to  guide. 
A  man  in  black  with  white  spots  dotted 
As  sign  to  Persia  was  allotted. 
A  picture  of  the  orb  of  day 
To  distant  China  showed  the  way. 
The  symbol  of  the  cross  revealed 
The  road  to  Muscovy  concealed, 
A  land  whose  borders  far  away 
From  Little  Tartary  then  1 
But  which,  with  wide-embracing  grasp, 
Doth  now  that  Chersoncsus  clasp. 
Our  hero  chose  the  way  that  led 
To  Muscovy,  and  thither  sped. 
T>y  day  and  night  he  onward  flew, 
::  moment  dreadin  :i  crew 

ks,  like  blood-hounds  on  his  track, 

And  filled  with  equal  appri  Q, 

Which  kept  his  nerves  in  constant  tension, 


S*>  A    POEM. 

Lc  of  the  bated  race 

By  chance  should  meet  him,  face  to  face, 

judging  from  his  iron  bai 
That  he  was  living  from  their  land, 
Should  seize  him  as  a  runaway,  • 
1  force  him  to  retrace  his  way. 


Oh !  who  the  agony  can  tell, 

Which,  like  the  torturing  pains  of  hell, 

Consumed  his  breast  by  day  and  night, 

Throughout  that. long  and  dangerous  flight? 

Two  weeks  were  passed,  the  third  begun, 

Ere  he  his  weary  race  had  run, 

When  on  the  sixteenth  day  he  found 

Himself  upon  Muscovian  ground, 

And  reached  a  Russian  garrison, 

Established  on  the  river  Don. 

A  kindly  welcome  here  he  gained, 

Security  and  rest  obtained. 

For,  touched  with  tender  sympathy, 

The  chief  commander  set  him  free 

From  that  accursed  ring  he  wore, 

Which  galled  his  neck  and  made  it  sore. 

The  soothing  care  of  woman,  too, 

Fell  on  him  like  the  gentle  dew, 

Revived  his  drooping,  fainting  heart,   . 

I  gave  Ins  blood  a  fresher  start, 
So  -that  another  man  he  seemed, 
As  if  from  death  itself  redeemed. 


A    POEM.  81 

For  by  his  tale  of  hardships  moved 

Him  Calamata  pitied,  loved. 

But  'tis  a  doubtful  question  whether 

Pity  alone,  or  love  inflamed  her. 
Some  think  she  felt  an  ardent  passion, 
And  others  but  a  soft  compassion, 
Such  as  inspires  the  female  breast 
For  all  by  want  or  woe  oppressed. 
To  taste  the  sweets  of  glory,  fame, 
The  pleasures  which  attend  a  Name, 
To  move  in  grand,  triumphant  state, 
Enrolled  among  the  high  and  great, 
And  from  admiring  nations  hear 
Applauding  pgeans,  far  and  near, 
Became  our  hero's  happy  lot, 
"When  he  departed  from  that  spot. 
For,  furnished  with  a  large  convoy, 
He  homeward  bent  his  face  with  joy. 
Through  llussia's  plains  and  forests  lay, 
'Mid  scattered  villages,  his  way; 
And  bearing  notes  of  commendation, 
At  every  military  station, 
A  kind  reception  him  awaited, 
And  wh  story  he  related, 

All  heard  with  joy  and  a  ion, 

Hi.-  nd  marvellous  narration, 

And  hardship'  : 

Sp"  .18  praise  to  him  add] 

Made  him 


82  a   ]'<>, 

Before  him  spread  the  festive  board, 

"With  richest,  choicest  viands  stored, 

In  various  ways,  'mid  scenes  of  mirth, 

Paid  tribute  to  his  valor,  worth, 

And  presents  on  him  oft  bestowed, 

Ere  he  proceeded  on  his  road. 

Thus,  like  a  Roman  conqueror, 

Returning  from  the  field  of  war, 

From  post  to  post  he  passed  along, 

Admired,  extolled  by  every  throng. 

To  Transylvania  next  he  came, 

Scenes  of  his  former  deeds  of  fame. 

Where  troops  of  friends,  with  glad  surprise, 

Upon  him  cast  again  their  eyes, 

Delighted  that  he  still  survived, 

And  by  his  daring  had  contrived 

T'  escape  the  Moslem's  cruel  sway, 

And  back  to  freedom  make  his  way. 

Such  entertainment  hero  he  found, 

With  transports  he  was  nearly  drowned. 

His  heart  was  glutted  with  content, 

And  here  his  life  he  would  have  spent, 

But  for  a  mastering  desire, 

Which  burned  within,  a  quenchless  fire, 

Old  England's  face  once  more  to  see, 

The  land  of  his  nativity. 

He  therefore  bade  his  friends  adieu, 

And  going  thence,  he  journeyed  through 

The  midst  of  Upper  Hungary, 

Thence  onward  into  Saxony. 


A   POEM.     '  S3 

At  Leipsic  'twas  his  lot  to  find 

That  prince  of  targe  and  generous  mind, 

Whose  bounty  he  before  had  proved, 

Who  now  again  with  kindness  moved, 

Gave  him  a  five-fold  greater  store 

Of  money  than  he  did  before. 

This  stroke  of  fortune  changed  his  mind 

From  what  he  had  till  then  designed— 

A  direct  passage  to  his  home — 

Resolving  that  he  still  would  roam 

Through  various  lands,  their  cities  view, 

Learn  more  than  he  already  knew, 

Ere  he  his  journey's  end  attained, 

The  country  of  his  birth  regained, 

Through  Dresden  then,  and  Magdeburg, 

He  travelled  unto  Wittenberg. 

To  Augsburg  next  he  made  his  way, 

From  whence  his  course  through  Frankfort 

He  then  by  Strasburg  passed  through  France, 

Until  he  reached  the  town  of  Nantes. 

A  long  and  winding  route  he  took, 

On  numerous  countries  cast  a  look, 

And  other  cities  not  here  named, 

In  European  story  famed. 

He  ventured  next  upon  the  main, 

Performed  a  vdyage  unto  Spain, 

Wtan  r         h  thai  land  a  tour  he  made, 

And  all  iis  leading  iuwns  surveyed, 


84  A    POEM. 

Such  as  Cadiz  and  Valladolid, 
Seville,  Cordova,  and  Madrid, 
As  did  that  brilliant  son  of  song, 
"Who  trace  Childe  Harold's  way  along. 


Sated  with  Europe,  next  lie  sailed 
To  Africa,  where  war  prevailed. 
Debarking  on  the  Barbary  strand. 
He  journeyed  from  the  coast  inland, 
The  Moorish  capital  he  gained, 
Much  information  there  obtained. 
A  world  of  scenes  and  objects  new 
There  opened  on  his  wandering  view, 
Differing  from  all  he  e'er  had  seen 
In  other  lands  where  he  had  been. 
Vast  ruins  also  round  him  lay, 
The  mournful  traces  of  decay, 
Which  proved  Morocco's  former  glory, 
A  brighter  period  in  her  story. 
From  thence  to  Fez  he  made  his  way, 
Which  then  enjoyed  a  palmy  day, 
And  also  gazed,  with  fresh  surprise, 
Upon  that  city's  wealth  and  size: 
Four  hundred  thousand  souls  it  held, 
Few  fairer  towns  he  e'er  beheld. 
But  shortly  ending  there  his  stay, 
He  to  the  coast  retraced  his  way, 
When,  carried  by  a  ship  of  war, 
lie  soon  from  thence  was  borne. afar. 


A    POKM.  85 

Not  of  his  own  accord  lie  went, 

But  rattier  forced  by  accident. 

JFor,  having  gone  on  board  to  sup, 

A  fierce  and  sudden  gale  sprung  up, 

Which  drove  the  vessel  out  to  sea, 

Ere  he  again  could  landed  be. 

Westward  she  ran  for  many  miles, 

As  far  as  the  Canary  Isles. 

Here  by  two  Spanish  ships  pursued, 

A  dreadful  sea-fight  next  ensued. 

Two  days  and  nights  the  conflict  raged, 

In  close  encounter  oft  engaged, 

When  firing  at  a  greater  space, 

Kept  up  a  flight  and  eager  chase. 

Smith's  vessel  managed  to  escape, 

Passed  Santa  Cruz,  and  Goa's  Cape, 

Returned  to  where  she  was  before, 

A  port  upon  JNorth  Afric's  shore, 

Whence  homeward  bound  he  skimmed  the 

main, 
And  into  England  came  again. 

My  sketch  is  done:  what  shall  I  say 
Of  him  we've  followed  in  his  way '( 
A  warrior  bravo  he  stands  confessed, 
A  genius  versatile  possessed. 
In  stratagems  and  arts  of  war 
With  Hannibal  will  he  compare. 
In  valor  equal  to  Achilles, 
in  trawl  he  JUrp 


£6  A    VOEM. 

More  countries,  cities,  men  lie  viewed, 
A  longer,  stranger  course  pursued, 
Than  did  that  wanderer  famed  of  old, 
Whose  story  Homer's  verse  has  told. 


CANTO    IV. 

Resume  we  now  our  hero's  story, 
And  follow  him  to  scenes  of  glory 
Upon  a  different  stage  and  new. 
Where  savage  wonders  meet  the  view. 
Behold  him  leave  the  ancient  world, 
And  with  his  country's  flag  unfurled, 
Across  th'  Atlantic  make  his  way 
To  barbarous  regions  far  away 
Beyond  its  broad  expanse,  where  lay 
The  new  and  western  hemisphere, 
That  he  might  aid  in  planting  here 
The  seeds  of  empire,  and  transfer 
To  this  wild,  rude,  and  desert  strand 
The  blessings  of  his  native  land ; 
The  wilderness  subdue,  transform, 
Th%savages  convert,  reform, 
And  here  erect  a  Christian  nation, 
At  least  establish  the  foundation, 
On  which  in  after-days  should  rise, 
In  towering  grandeur  to  the  ski 
A  social  fabric  strong  and  great, 
A  populous  and  powerful  State. 
But  ere  we  enter  this  new  sphere, 

1  here, 
hat  others  on  this 
Before  our  hero,  should  i 


88  A    POEM. 

Attention  for  a  little  space, 
Those  members  of  a  giant  race, 
"Who  in  the  New  World  laurels  won 


Whose  work  immortal  here  was  done. 
Columbus  !  cheated  of  thy  name. 

This  continent  yet  speaks  thy  fame. 
And  long  as  Andes  rears  his  crown, 
Or  Amazon  his  flood  pours  down, 
Or  Mississippi  rolls  his  tide, 
Thy  glory  cannot  be  denied. 
Thou  art  above  all  common  fame, 
Not  king  or  conque-ror  is  thy  name, 
But  that  which  best  declares  thy  worth, 
Is,  Finder  of  another  earth. 
Thou  Alexander  dost  transcend, 
Thy  race  began  where  his  did  end. 
He  o'er  those  nightly  regions  swept, 
V\Thich  formed  the  ancient  globe,  and  wepi 
That  other  world  displayed  no  field, 
Where  the  victor's  sword  might  wield. 
But  thou  another  world  didst  find, 
And  opened  to  the  human  mind 
A  new,  and  large,  and  glorious  sphere, 
in  v, hieh  to  run  a  bright  career. 
Thou  didst  what  others  dared  not  do, 
Sailed  o'er  th'  unknown  waters  blue, 
And  triumph  o'er  the  murmuring  crew, 
Until  at  length,  in  deep  of  night, 
Thy  eager,  anxious,  watchful  sight 
Beheld  afar  a  moving  light, 


A    POEM.  §9 

Presafge  of  what  was  soon  descried, 
Landi  land!  in  ecstasy  was  cried. 
0  happy  moment  unto  thee  ! 
How  .swelled  thy  mighty  soul  and  free  ! 
What  rapture  glowed  within  thy  breast, 
A  joy  in  vain  by  words  expressed  ! 
Success  has  all  thy  labors  crowned, 
The  long  sought  western  land  is  found. 
Thou  hast  at  hist  obtained  the  prize, 
Thy  glorious  visions  realized, 
No  longer  empty  dreams  of  night, 
But  faith  and  hope  are  lost  in  sight ! 
Yet  not  the  honor  thou  didst  claim, 
But  humbly  didst  thou  praise  His  name, 
Who  raised  thee  up,  and  sent  thee  forth, 
And  gave  thee  all  thy  strength  and  worth. 
Upon  the  shore  debarking,  bending, 
And  meekly,  lowly  condescending, 
Thy  lips  impressed  the  solid  ground, 
While  all  thy  party  stood  around, 
When,  like  a  holocaust,  to  heaven 
United,  fervent  thanks  were  given. 

Returning  to  the  East  again, 

thee  re-appear  in  Spain 
With  tidings  of  the  great  eve]  . 
A  n 

And  like  an  agitating  wave, 


90  A    POEM. 

Fast  spread  afar  the  deed  of  fame, 

The  new-found  World,  and  finder's  name. 

As  in  Eolus'  cave  the  winds 

Fierce  struggled,  so  the  active  minds, 

The  spirits  restless,  fiery,  free, 

Confined  to  Europe  hy  the  sea, 

Their  valor,  strength,  and  ardor  spent, 

Within  their  narrow  limits  pent. 

But  now  that  barrier  torn  away, 

With  wild  and  happy  freedom  they 

Rush  forth  to  seek  that  wider  sphere, 

Of  which,  with  deep  delight,  they  hear. 

Like  flocks  of  birds  they  wing  their  flight, 

And  on  those  fairy  isles  first  light, 

Which  were  alone  as  yet  revealed, 

While  all  beyond  remained  concealed. 

But  moved  by  restless  passion  still, 

And  force  of  energetic  will, 

The  love  of  fame,  the  thirst  of  gold, 

Each  impulse  strong  that  stirs  the  bold, 

The  longing  for  discovery, 

Dim  visions  of  a  great  South  Sea, 

Some  braver  leaders  than  the  rest, 

With  kindred  followers,  onward  pressed. 

Balboa  on  the  Isthmus  lands, 

And  from  some  roving  Indian  bands 

The  nearness  of  a  great  Sea  learns, 

To  visit  which  his  spirit  yearns.- 

Through  tangled  wood  and  marshy  plain, 

His  troop  at  length  a  mountain  gain. 


A    POEM.  91 

Its  rugged  sides  they  next  ascend, 
I3ut  ere  they  reach  their  journey's  end, 
The  summit  of  the  lofty  chain, 
lie  bids  them  stop,  and  there  remain, 
Till  he  returns  to  them  again. 

o 

Alone  he  mounts  the  towering  crest, 
And  eager  gazes  towards  the  West, 
When,  lo !  to  his  o'erjoyed  surprise, 
An  ocean  vast  before  him  lies. 
"  It  is,"  lie  cried,  "the  Southern  Sea7 
And  thou,  0  God,  has  granted  me 
The  honor  first  of  all  to  view 
Its  broad  expanse  of  peaceful  blue." 
Then  falling  down  he  kissed  the  sod, 
Through  joy  and  gratitude  to  God. 
Not  Moses  from  his  Pisgah  height 
Fair  Canaan  viewed  with  more  delight. 

Ponce  De  Leon,  now  bent  with  years, 
A  strange,  enchanting  story  hears, 
Relating  to  a  mystic  spring, 
Whose  ever-flowing  waters  bring 
To  wrinkled  age  immortal  youth — 
He  doubted  not  the  legend's  truth. 
It  was  indeed  a  pleasing  thought, 

For  mortal  man  h:\<  ever  sought 
A  remedy  t  dreaded  death, 

\  way  to  keep  the  vital  breath 
Within  us  for  a  lengthened 
And  thus  prolong  ortal  ra 


\)'2  A   POEM. 

And  Alchemy  in  secret  wrought 
For  that  same  end  Dc  Leon  sought, 
The  power,  the  skill,  the  living  fount, 
By  means  of  which  we  might  surmount 
The  shocks  of  time,  the  final  blow, 
And  he  immortal  here  below. 
Yain  idea,  hope,  and  effort — all, 
Death,  is  the  offspring  of  the  fall, 
The  common  destiny  of  man, 
That  terminates  his  little  span  ; 
Nor  earth',  with  all  her  strength,  can  give 
The  vital  force  by  which  to  live 
One  moment  more  than  lie  decrees, 
AY  ho  governs  all  as  he  doth  please.  • 
And  yet  there  is,  beyond  a  doubt, 
.  For  man  an  ever-gushing  fount 
Of  life  and  immortality, 
And  he  that  drinks  shall  never  die. 
That  fount  is  Christ,  the  living  Lord, 
Receive,  believe,  obey  his  word, 
And  thou  shalt  surely  prove  this  truth, 
Derive  from  him  eternal  youth. 
Leon  with  zeal  his  search  pursues, 
Though  baffled  oft  the  search  renews, 
And  many  a  limpid  spring  he  tries, 
But  all  alike  in  vain — he  dies. 
Stern  critic,  look  not  coldly  on 
The  fruitless  search  of  De  Leon. 
Like  him,  and  others  of  thy  kind, 
The  Fount  of  Youth  thou  fain  wouldst  find, 


a  poem.  93 

And  yet  if  only  sought  below, 

That  Fount  for  thee  shall  never  flow. 

0  vile,  accursed  lust  of  gold, 

How  shall  thy  turpitude  be  told  ! 

An  inmate  of  the  human  breast, 

How  is  the  world  by  thee  oppressed.  j 

Of  monstrous  crime-,  how  large  a  breed 

From  thee,  the  fertile  source  proceed. 

Theft,  murder,  rapine,  villany, 

Of  every  species  and  degree, 

Arc  thy  infernal  progeny. 

The  root  of  universal  evil, 

Thou  art  vicegerent  of  the  devil. 

See  Cortcz,  like  a  fire-brand, 

Flame  o'er  the  Aztecs'  lovely  land, 

Devouring  all  within  his  path, 

Who  dared  to  brave  his  power  and  wrath. 

In  vain  the  feeble  natives  try, 

With  splendid  gifts,  to  bribe  and  buy 

The  strange  invader  from  their  shore, 

For  these,  the  pledge  of  greater  store, 

But  stimulate  his  lust  the  more, 

Arouse,  incite  himself  and  band 

To  make  the  conquest  of  the  land. 

Fro;:  Cruz  I  'co, 

Resistless  as  a  torrent's  flow, 

The  dauntless  Spaniard)  rd  go, 

Remorseless  as  th'  engulphing  wave, 

( )r  as  the  dread,  '        late  grave. 


94  A    POEM. 

Humanity  in  sorrow  bleeds 

At  thought  of  their  inhuman  deeds. 

At  last  they  stand  within  the  walls, 

Sicze  Montezuma  in  his  Halls, 

His  mighty  empire  quakes  and  falls, 

When  victor,  viceroy  for  Spain, 

Cortez  himself  proceeds  to  reign. 

Three  hundred  years  and  more  had  lied, 
When,  by  a  great  commander  led, 
A  brave,  determined,  gallant  band 
Marched  through  the  same  devoted  land. 
Like  soaring  eagle  in  his  flight, 
They  passed  o'er  Cerro  Gordo's  height, 
Nor  stopped  in  their  sublime  career, 
Till  they  the  capital  drew  near. 
Her  hosts  of  brave  defenders  stood 
To  guard  the  city  with  their  blood, 
And  many  a  fierce  encounter  proved 
How  well  they  fought  for  her  they  loved. 

Lt  all  in  vain — they  fly,  they  yield, 
The  foe  is  master  of  the  field, 
In  triumph  enters  through  the  gate, 
With  all  the  pomp  of  martial  state, 
When  high  above  the  city  floats 
The  flag  which  his  success  denotes. 
Then  Scott,  and  Harney,  Quitman,  Lee, 
Our  columns  led  to  victory. 
But  now  the  first  a  traitor  turns, 
His  native  State  deserts  and  spurns. 


A  POEM.  95 

And  with  the  sword  his  mother  gave, 

Virginia — parent  of  the  brave — 

Her  precious  life-blood  seeks  to  draw, 

Preferring  gold  to  honor's  law. 

A  matricide  shall  be  his  name, 

The  synonymc  of  guilt  and  shame, 

And  stricken  from  th'  immortal  roll 

Of  Southern  heroes,  to  the  goal 

Of  infamy  shall  he  descend, 

Dishonored  in  time's  latest  end. 

But  higher  yet  in  Glory's  skies 

The  star  of  gallant  Lee  shall  rise. 

The  brow  of  Johnston  shall  be  seen 

Entwined  with  laurels  ever-green. 

With  trumpet  clamor  noisy  Fame 

Shall  spread  abroad  Magruder's  name,* 

And  give  the  praise  to  others  due, 

Whose  hearts  proved  loyal,  faithful,  true. 

0 !  blessing  be  upon  them  all, 

Who,  when  they  heard  Virginia's  call, 

Surrendered  wealth,  and  place,  and  power, 

To  stand  by  her  in  danger's  hour. 

As  darts  the  tiger  on  the  prey, 
As  hungry  wolf  at  close  of  day 
Goes  forth  to  raven  and  to  slay, 
Pizarro  and  his  hellish  crew 
Pushed  to  the  conquest  of  Peru. 

*  Wnti    i   jm  t  al  Bethel. 


96  A    POEM. 

Peru!  the  empire  of  the  sun, 

A  land  whose  children  first  were  won 

From  savage  to  a  settled  life 

By  Manco  Capac  and  his  wife ; 

Who  gave  instruction  to  the  mind, 

Their  manners  rude,  uncouth  refined, 

And  raised  them  from  a  low  estate 

To  he  a  nation  high  and  great. 

Themselves  descended  from  above, 

They  came  to  do  a  work  of  love, 

Sent  by  the  Ruler  of  the  skies 

That  .barbarous  race  to  civilize. 

By  Nature's  own  direction  guided, 

He  o'er  the  vulgar  sex  presided, 

While  she,  supreme  within  her  sphere, 

The  women  had  beneath  her  care. 

The  men  by  him  were  taught  to  wield 

The  implements  by  which  the  field 

Is  tilled  and  kept,  and  made  to  yield 

Its  timely  fruits  to  those  who  toil 

To  gain  subsistence  from  the  soil. 

And  various  other  arts  he  taught, 

How  roads  are  made,  and  metals  wrought, 

And  houses  built,  and  laws  ordained, 

Good  order  through  the  land  maintained, 

Whate'er  contributes  to  increase 

A  nation's  glory,  strength,  and  peace. 

He  also  raised  the  mind  on  high 

To  Him  who  reigns  beyond  the  sky, 


A    l'OEM. 

The  Lord,  supporter,  and  the  soul 

Of  those  resplendent  orbs  that  roll 

In  grandeur  through  the  heavenly  sphere, 

That  Him  they  might  in  heart  revere. 

But  since,  concealed  as  by  a  screen, 

The  Deity  could  not  be  seen, 

He  bade  them  fear  the  King  of  day, 

And  unto  him  their  homage  pay. 

To  him  the  temple  proud  they  built. 

For  him  the  victim's  blood  they  spilt, 

And  as  his  daily  race  was  run, 

They  bowed  in  worship  to  the  sun. 

By  Manco's  wife,  led  in  the  race, 

The  gentler  sex  kept  equal  pace. 

O'er  them,  with  queenly  grace  she  reigned, 

Their  hands  to  skilful  work  she  trained, 

And  every  womanly  grace  and  art 

To  them  she  labored  lo  impart. 

Beneath  their  wise  and  virtuous  sway 

The  nation  prospered  every  day. 

And  when  at  length  their  course  was  ended, 

And  they  to  heaven  again  ascended, 

They  left  a  pleasing  scene  behind, 

A  people  wealthy  and  refined, 

Reclaimed  within  a  recent  date 

From  evils  of  a  savage  state, 

A  long  succession  of  their  race, 

To  them  their  noble  lineage  trace, 

And  each  revolving  age  still  saw 

Fern  the  seat  of  weajth  and  law. 
5 


Ixm  A  POEM. 

On  giant  trunks  that  towering  rise, 
"Whose  foliage  intercepts  the  skies. 
The  woods  are  robed  in  brilliant  green, 
A  boundless  and  unbroken  scene 
Of  verdure  splendid,  fresh,  and  bright. 
As  e'er  was  offered  to  the  sight. 
The  flowers  in  wild  luxuriance  bloom, 
Loading  the  air  with  rich  perfume, 
An  odoriferous  paradise, 
Enchanting  to  the  gazer's  eyes, 
Pleasant  alike  to  sight  and  smell 
Beyond  the  power  of  words  to  tell. 
In  pleasing  harmony  with  these, 
Gay-plumaged  birds  among  the  trees, 
In  countless  numbers,  with  their  song, 
Salute  them  as  they  pass  along. 
Yet  rough  their  march,  and  toilsome,  slow, 
As  o'er  untrodden  paths  they  go. 
Dense  thickets  now  impede  their  course, 
Through  which  they  cannot  passage  force. 
Huge  trees  lie  prostrate  on  the  ground, 
'With  broken  branches  scattered  round, 
And  stagnant  marshes  oft  they  meet, 
Where  deeply  sink  in  mire  their  feet, 
Abounding  too  with  lazy  swarms 
Of  scaly  monsters,  void  of  charms, 
Whose  jaws  immense  and  teeth  of  power 
Threatened  their  bodies  to  devour. 
But  with  adventurous  spirits  brave, 
As  dauntless  sailors  plow  the  wave, 


A    POEM.  101 

When,  maddened  into  rage  and  foam, 
The  sea  resists  them  as  they  roam 
Its  watery  wastes,  yet  on  they  sail, 
Unchecked  by  terrors  of  the  gale, 
So  forward  moved  that  roving  band, 
Through  that  rude,  wild,  and  frightful  land. 

But  as  upon  the  boundless  ocean 

A  ship  advances  with  slow  motion, 

And,  destitute  of  chart  or  compass, 

On  through  the  waves  which  her  encompass, 

Blindly  pursues  her  unknown  way, 

Yet  still  there  stretches  far  away 

Nought  but  the  same  wide  liquid  plain, 

The  shoreless  surface  of  the  main, 

So  did  that  wilderness  extend 

Without  a  limit  or  an  end. 

In  sand  or  stream  no  sign  of  gold 

Did  their  inquiring  eyes  behold. 

No  fields  or  towns  appeared  in  sight, 

Which  them  to  plunder  could  invite. 

All,  all  was  desolate  and  drear,      . 

Without  a  single  thing  to  cheer. 

Six  weary  months  had  passed  away, 

Since  in  the  genial  days  of  May, 

Their  vessels  moored  in  Tampa  Bay. 

No  end  of  toil  appeared  in  view, 

Nor  nearer  to  their  goal  thrv  drew, 

But  still,  as  onward  they  proceeded, 

Hope's  objects,  phantom-like,  receded. 


10*2  A   POEM. 

The  stoutest  hearts  become  appalled. 

All  clamored  loud  to  he  recalled. 

"This  wilderness,"  they  cried,  "a  grave 

Will  prove  to  us  so  proud  and  brave. 

No  wealth  or  glory  here  we  gain, 

Nor  prospect  that  we  shall  attain 

The  ends  we  seek,  before  us  lies — 

He  that  advances  further  dies." 

Sternly  their  chieftain  them  addressed, 

And  thus  their  murmuring  words  repressed 

"  Useless  and  vain  is  all  ye  say 

To  move  me  to  retrace  my  wTay. 

Fixed  is  my  purpose,  nor  will  I 

Return  till  I  the  land  descry. 

If  rich  in  gold,  that  gold  I'll  find; 

If  poor,  I'll  satisfy  my  mind." 


Four  months  in  wintering  they  consume, 
And  with  the  spring  their  march  resume. 
From  Apalachee's  coast  they  start, 
And  on  a  northern  course  depart. 
The  fertile  plains  they  penetrate 
Of  what  is  now  the  "Empire  State" 
Of  Georgia,  filled  with  admiration, 
And  eager  hope  and  expectation, 
That  soon  the  much-desired  gold 
Would  to  their  eyes  itself  unfold. 
Through  forest,  brake  and  flowing  stream, 
In  pathless  wilds,  which  endless  seem, 


A    POEM.  103 

They  keep  their  persevering  track, 

Their  chief  disdaining  to  turn  back. 

Eastward  they  bend,  and  North  again, 

Till,  having  crossed  the  broad  Champaign, 

They  reach  at  length  the  mountain  chain, 

Where  dwelt,  till  late,  untamed  and  free, 

The  fierce,  brave,  warlike  Cherokee. 

E'en  now,  while  I  these  verses  write, 

I  see  that  distant  mountain  height, 

Which  ever,  from  my  humble  home, 

Looms  up  afar,  beneath  the  dome 

Of  heaven,  commingling  with  the  sky,' 

An  object  pleasing  to  the  eye. 

Bold,  beauteous  land,  0  Cherokee ! 

Is  that  the  Spirit  gave  to  thee; — 

A  region  picturesque  and  wild, 

With  climate  genial,  healthy,  mild, 

A  soft,  Italian  atmosphere, 

And  sky  as  blue,  serene,  and  clear, 

A  wide-extended  scope  or  scene 

Of  mountains,  hills,  and  vales  between. 

Here  water,  in  a  thousand  forms, 

Displays  its  ever-varying  charms, 

Now  gushing  forth  from  hill  or  mountain, 

A  bubbling,  sparkling,  joyous  fountain, 

Now  leaping,  laughing,  dancing,  free, 

Goes  bounding  on,  with  wanton  glee, 

Or  in  the  level  plain  below, 

Meanders  with  more  even  llow, 


104  A    POEM. 

Till  stream  with  stream  uniting,  blending, 

And  in  a  common  bed  descending, 

The  liquid  volume  swells  and  grows, 

And  as  a  river  onward  flows. 

All  these  in  turn  together  run, 

Their  mingled  currents  flow  in  one, 

Which  glides  in  beauty,  placid,  free, 

The  fair,  romantic  Tennessee. 

One  spot,  transcending  all  the  rest, 

Has  left  its  image  in  my  breast. 

In  lines  indelible  there  traced, 

Its  features  cannot  be  effaced, 

But  ever,  as  in  thought  anew, 

Its  beauties  I  recall  to  view, 

The  recollection  stirs  the  heart, 

Fresh  thrills  of  pleasure  through  me  dart, 

No  art  of  human  pen  can  paint, 

Except  in  outline  feeble,  faint, 

This  spot  of  Eden  loveliness, 

Its  charms  innumerable  express. 

Yet,  fruitless  as  th'  attempt  may  be, 

I'll  sketch  it  reader,  unto  thee : — 


You'd  stand  upon  a  rising  ground, 
And  look  upon  the  scene  around — 
A  glorious  prospect  meets  the  eye 
Of  forest,  river,  mountain,  sky, 
The  landscape  all  its  parts  unfolds  : 
The  raptured  gazer  first  beholds. 


A    POEM.  105 

The  water  in  its  winding  flow, 
Meandering  through  the  vale  below. 
The  river  gently  curves  and  bends, 
With  graceful  sweep  its  bed  descends, 
Receding  southward  from  the  view, 
And  by  an  island  cut  in  two, 
Whence  flowing  onward,  side  by  side, 
The  sister-currents  smoothly  glide. 
Again  they  meet,  then  disappear 
Mid  trees  and  hills  that  cluster  near, 
But  yet  the  prospect  does  not  end, 
For  still  beyond  new  heights  extend. 
Stretching  afar  from  east  to  west, 
Successive  ridges  rear  their  crest, 
Rising  from  hills  to  mountain  high, 
WUosc  summit  mingles  with  the  sky. 
Thus  one  above  the  other  seen, 
Each  robed  in  forest  mantle  green, 
Which  in  the  distance  seems  a  blue, 
They  form  the  back  ground  of  the  view. 


O'er  all  is  hung  an  azure  sky, 

A  broad,  o'erarching  canopy 

Of  deep,  cerulean,  heavenly  blue, 

A  covering  of  divinest  hue. 

As  through  the  soft  and  tranquil  haze, 

We  Stand,  and  on  those  mountains  gaze, 

A  land  of  spirits  and  of  dreams 

That  scene  of  desert  beauty  seems, 


106  A   POEM. 

The  happy  seats  of  love  and  rest, 
Like  far  oft'  regions  of  the  blest 
From  earthly  ills  and  troubles  free, 
Where  sin  and  sorrow  ne'er  can  be. 
Oh  !  were  it  unto  mortal  given 
To  fly  away  and  soar  to  heaven, 
Methinks  I  thither  first  would  fly, 
As  to  the  portals  of  the  sky, 
And  from  those  mountains  of  delight 
Ascend  to  that  celestial  height, 
Where  faith  is  swallowed  up  in  sight. 

■ 
Such  is  the  land,  ye  redmen  brave, 
Which  unto  you  the  Spirit  gave. 
Here  the  Creator  fixed  your  home, 
And  here  ye  loved  to  dwell  and  roarff. 
Perchance  a  thousand  years  ago 
Ye  saw  these  streams  and  streamlets  flow, 
And  through  these  highland  chased  the  deer 
And  acted  life's  whole  drama  here. 
But,  save  a  remnant  of  your  band, 
Who  would  not  leave  their  native  land, 
But  linger  still  on  the  hunting  grounds, 
Yet  marked  by  rude  ancestral  mounds, 
Which  tell  them  that  their  fathers  were 
From  ancient  times  established  here, 
This  lovely  region  knows  you  not, 
Ye  're  strangers,  absentees,  forgot. 
Ye  dwell  afar  in  the  distant  West, 
A  foreign  bird  sits  in  your  nest, 


A    POEM.  107 

The  Eagle  drove  you  hence  away, 
And  made  your  heritage  his  prey. 
Mysterious  Providence !  may  ye 
Be  ne'er  again  compelled  to  nee, 
But  ever  rising  in  your  state 
Become  a  people  strong  and  great, 
And  with  the  race  around  you  stand 
An  equal  owner  of  the  land,  , 
Participant  in  all  its  fame, 
And  adding  lustre  to  its  name. 
Arrested  by  the  mountain  range, 
De  Soto  makes  another  change, 
And  to  the  South  he  turns  again 
Through  Alabama's  charming  plain, 
Fruitful  in  crops  of  Indian  grain. 
The  region  trodden  by  his  feet 
Was  long  the  fixed  and  chosen  seat, 
A  land  of  rest  and  habitation 
Unto  another  powerful  nation. 
Here  various  peoples  dwelt  of  old, 
Whose  names  can  now  be  scarcely  told. 
At  length  a  strange  invader  came, 
A  distant  band  of  fearful  name, 
A  fierce  and  warlike,  wandering  race, 
In  search  of  an  abiding  place. 
Like  Goths  and  Vandals  from  the  West, 
Upon  the  native  tribes  they  pressed, 
Slew  some,  and  then  absorbed  the  rest, 
When  settling  on  the  conquered  ground, 
They  spread  a  numerous  people  round. 


108  a  poi:m. 

In  union  did  they  find  tlicir  strength, 
And  grew  in  power,  until  at  length, 
Stirred  up  by  jealousy  and  hate 
Against  a  stronger  race  whom  fate 
Designed  to  sieze  on  their  estate, 
They  dared  in  conflict  to  engage, 
And  vented  on  them  oft  their  rage. 
Vain  was  the  struggle — Jackson  came, 
Bearing  aloft  the  fiery  flame, 
The  torch  of  vengeance  and  of  war, 
And  spreading  waste  and  death  afar. 
But  yet  the  foe  yield  not  nor  quake, 
Another  final  stand  they  make 
Within  the  Tallapoosa's  bend, 
Resolved  their  country  to  defend. 
Within  that  narrow  circuit  stood 
A  thousand  warriors  true  and  good, 
And  like  brave  patriots  shed  their  blood. 
Scarce  one  of  all  the  valiant  host 
Escaped  to  mourn  the  others  lost. 
There  fell  the  last  o'erwhclming  blow, 
That  laid  the  proud  Muscogees  low, 
And,  of  their  country  dispossessed, 
They,  too,  were  driven  to  the  West. 
Yet,  Phocnix-like,  they  rose  once  more, 
And  flourish,  stronger  than  before. 
Long  may  they  prosper  and  increase, 
Pursuing  all  the  arts  of  peace, 
Blessed  by  religion,  science,  law, 
Beyond  whate'er  their  fathers  saw. 


A    POKiVi.  100 

Once  more  the  gallant  chieftain  view 

Through  Alabama's  vales  pursue 

His  onward  march,  without  an  end, 

To  which  his  movement  shall  extend. 

He  reaches  soon  a  southern  land, 

Where  dwelt  a  brave  and  martial  band. 

Themselves  extinct,  their  name  survives, 

And  in  a  three-fold  manner  lives, 

Perpetuated  by  a  bay, 

A  river,  and  a  city  gay. 

You  ask  that  name,  Mobile  replies, 

"My  fame  exalts  it  to  the  skies." 

The  spot  where  stood  the  Indian  town 

Deserves  a  lasting,  wide  renown. 

For  honor  to  the  savage  brave, 

Who  find  at  home  a  patriot's  grave, 

And  hallow  with  their  blood  the  land, 

Invaded  by  a  hostile  band, 

And  where  they  fall,  for  country  die, 

That  spot  is  their  Thermopylae. 

Attacked,  they  fought  with  Spartan  fire, 

And  many  a  Spaniard  felt  their  ire, 

And  many  a  noble  steed  lay  dead, 

The  place  became  a  gory  bed. 

But  shall  the  proud  and  fair  Castilian 

Yield  to  the  tawny,  low  Mobilian  ? 

Another  charge  De  Soto  makes, 

The  very  ground  beneath  it  quakes. 

The  natives  full,  and  fly,  give  way, 

He  burns  their  town,  and  wins  the  day, 


110  A    POEM. 

Victorious,  yet  so  much  he  lost, 
He  little  reason  had  to  boast. 


Surely  the  chieftain,  sick  at  heart, 
From  such  a  land  will  now  depart. 
The  sea  is  near,  and  ships  are  there, 
Within  a  haven,  broad  and  fair, 
In  Pensacola's  beauteous  bay, 
And  soon  will  bear  his  troops  away, 
Who  clamor  loud  and  long  to  go, 
If  he  will  but  direct  it  so. 
He  heeds  them  not :  unchanged  his  mind, 
Nor  bent  the  least  from  his  design 
Some  country  rich  in  gold  to  find, 
He  scorns  th'  inviting  ships  and  main, 
And  plunges  in  the  wilds  again. 
He  marches  to  the  North  once  more 
O'er  paths  unknown,  untrod  before, 
Throughout  a  boundless  wilderness, 
Which  seemed  to  offer  no  egress. 
Aeain  'tis  winter:  cold  and  snow 
Forbid  thern  further  now  to  go. 
They  stop,  and  pass  the  months  away, 
Till  genial  spring  resumes  her  sway. 
Surrounded  by  a  hostile  nation, 
Another  fight  and  conflagration 
Occur  before  they  leave  their  station. 
Uncertain  still  which  way  is  best, 
They  turn  their  faces  to  the  West. 


A   POEM.  Ill 

Treacling  a  rich,  alluvial  soil, 

For  days,  with  slow  advance,  they  toil 

Amid  its  vegetation  rank. 

That  sprung  from  ground  low,  soft  and  dank. 

At  length  they  suddenly  emerge, 

And  stand  upon  the  forest's  verge, 

When,  lo !  upon  a  scene  they  gaze, 

Which  fills  their  bosoms  with  amaze. 

A  mighty  river  rolls  along, 

With  current  broad,  and  deep,  and  strong, 

Cleaving  the  wilderness  in  twain, 

The  watery  monarch  of  the  plain. 

Struck,  with  the  sight,  in  deep  surprise, 

De  Soto  feasts  his  wondering  ey^s, 

While  through  his  beating,  swelling  soul 

Currents  of  thought  and  feeling  roll, 

Responsive  to  the  flowing  mass 

Of  waters  which  before  him  pass. 

Turbid  and  grand,  that  mighty  stream 

Burst  on  him  like  bewildering  dream, 

When  fancies  strange,  huge,  undefined, 

Starting  to  life,  flit  through  the  mind. 

lie  saw  its  current  deep  and  wide 

Rolling  in  majesty  and  pride, 

With  floating  trees  upon  its  tide. 

A  river  broad  and  vast, -sublime, 

Fit  emblem  of  elapsing  time, 

Which  flows  and  flows  foivwr  on, 

And  yet  is  never,  never  gone, 


112  A    POEM. 

Bearing  all  beings  to  the  sea, 
The  ocean  of  eternity. 
He  viewed  the  stream,  and  from  a  height, 
O'erlooking,  gazed  with  fond  delight, 
Mingled  with  deep,  mysterious  awe. 
Upon  the  glorious  scene  he  saw. 
Of  it  he  ne'er  had  heard  before, 
And  even  now  he  knows  no  more 
Than  what  before  his  eye  is  spread, 
All  ignorant  of  its  fountain  head, 
Frpm  whence  it  comes,  or  where  it  goes, 
The  various  lands  through  which  it  flows. 
But  yet  the  glance  of  genius  told 
That  not  in  vain  this  river  rolled, 
And  with  prophetic  vision  he 
Foresaw  its  future  destiny. 
He  pictured  changes  vast  and  great 
From  Nature's  rude  and  desert  state. 
Beheld  an  empire  rise  and  stand 
Through  coming  ages  in  this  land, 
With  many  cities  rich  and  fair 
And  busy  commerce  every  where. 
Then  shall  this  stream  a  highway  be 
For  trade  and  travel  swift  and  free, 
And  on  its  banks  shall  marts  arise, 
Attractive  to  the  passer's  eyes. 
Perchance,  he  thought,  this  very  height 
On  which  I  stand,  shall  be  the  site 
Of  some  great,  wealthy,  splendid  town, 
Rivalling  those  of  old  renown 


A    POEM.  113 

Upon  the  Tigris  or  the  Nile, 

A  second  Thebes  or  Memphian  pile. 

True  seer  thy  vision's  realized, 

There  glittering  domes  and  spires  arise, 

A  Memphis  greets  the  traveller's  eyes. 

'Twas  now  again  the  month  of  May, 
The  second  year  had  passed  away 
Since  first  they  came,  a  gallant  band, 
To  conquer  and  explore  the  land. 
No  fruit  as  yet  of  all  their  toil 
Had  they  acquired  from  the  soil. 
Disasters  only  had  they  found 
O'er  all  that  broad,  ill-fated  ground. 
Few  words  will  serve  me  to  relate 
De  Soto's  after  course  of  fate. 
Moved  by  a  stern,  unyielding  pride, 
He  crosses  to  the  western  side, 
Determined  that  he  will  succeed, 
His  men  to  promised  fortune  lead. 
He  first  advances  up  the  stream 
Until  he  reaches,  it  would  seem, 
A  region  since,  convulsed  and  torn 
By  forces  first  conceived  and  born 
Within  the  bowels  of  the  earth, 
Which  struggled  for  a  second  birth, 
When  Nature  in  an  agony, 
Collecting  all  her  energy, 
As  if  to  such  sharp  pangs  unused, 
A  dreadful  earthquake  she  produced. 


114  A    POEM. 

Such  shocks  of  terror  rent  the  plain, 

Imagination  strives  in  vain 

To  picture  to  itself  the  scene, 

The  like  of  which  had  never  been. 

Vast  fissures  open  in  the  ground, 

Whence  issues,  with  a  hissing  sound, 

A  mass  of  water  and  of  steam, 

A  vapory  cloud  and  heated  stream. 

Large  tracks  of  forest  downward  sink, 

The  river  overflows  its  brink, 

A  change  in  their  appearance  makes, 

Transforms  them  into  wooden  lakes. 

A  village  disappears  from  sight, 

Its  people  in  their  sudden  fright 

Escaping  scarce  by  rapid  flight. 

The  mighty  river  feels  the  shocks, 

And  like  a  slumbering  giant  rocks. 

The  solid  bed  beneath  him  quakes, 

And  every  liquid  atom  shakes. 

The  ground  borne  upward  from  below 

Forces  the  current  back  to  flow. 

His  ancient  bottom  is  revealed, 

From  earth's  primeval  days  concealed, 

And  from  his  depths,  long  buried  there, 

Gigantic  trees  are  shot  in  air, 

And  things  immersed  in  ooze  and  slime, 

Deposits  of  all  previous  time. 

His  bed  at  length  is  rent  in  two, 

When  islands  vanish  out  of  view. 


A    POEM.  115 

His  -waters,  seethe,  and  foam,  and  boil, 
Befouled  and  black  with  upheaved  soil, 
And  fragile  boats,  too  weak  to  last, 
Like  chaft"  before  the  whirlwind's  blast, 
Are  hurried  to  and  fro,  and  tossed, 
Until  they're  broken,  wrecked,  and  lost. 
A  deep  and  horrid  consternation 
Siezcs  upon  the  •whole  creation, 
And  man  and  beast,  in  wild  affright, 
Rush  from  the  scene  with  panic  flight. 
At  every  shock,  the  trembling  ground 
Gives  forth  a  loud  and  rumbling  sound, 
Resembling  heaven's  artillery, 
.When  peal  on  peal  rolls  through  the  sky, 
And  Nature,  from  her  hidden  pits, 
A  foetid,  nauseous  gas  emits, 
Whose  taint  corrupts  the  atmosphere, 
The  floods  infected,  too,  appear. 
Confusion  spreads  through  earth  and  air, 
And  Chaos  strives  for  victory  there. 


De  Soto  here  a  month  consumes, 
And  then  his  roving  march  resumes. 
Through  fearful  wilds,  'mid  savage  tribes, 
Which  history  barely  names  describes, 
lie  wanders  for  another  year, 
Encountering  dangers,  toils  severe; 
A  long  southwot  detour  he  ni:ikes, 
And  then  an  eastern  course  he  takes, 


116  A    POEM. 

Which  brings  him  to  the  stream  once  more, 
By  him  discovered,  passed  before. 
But  feeble  and  faint  is  the  chieftain  now, 
The  damps  of  death  are  on  his  brow, 
Wearied,  with  feverish  pain  oppressed, 
He  breathes  his  last,  and  sinks  to  rest. 
'Tis  midnight:  darkness  broods  supreme 
O'er  forest,  camp,  and  flowing  stream. 
His  men,  a  stern  and  veteran  band, 
Around  their  fallen  leader  stand, 
The  blazing  torch  the  only  light 
Whose  gleam  is  shed  upon  their  sight. 
Dense  mists  surround  them  like  a  cloud, 
They  wrap  his  body  in  a  shroud, 
And  lay  it  in  a  vessel  there, 
Then  for  his  burial  they  prepare. 
A  solemn  stillness  reigns  around, 
The  place  seems  consecrated  ground.. 
The  ancient  grove  its  column  rears, 
Slow  product  of  unnumbered  years, 
A  dark  cathedral,  huge  and  tall, 
Its  dismal  shades  a  funeral  pall. 
Gloomy  and  grand  are  the  stately  trees, 
Unruffled  by  the  lightest  breeze. 
The  drooping  moss  that  hangs  o'erhcad 
Appears  to  weep  the  hero  dead, 
In  sympathy  with  those  beneath, 
Whose  tears  are  flowing  for  his  death. 
Slow  moves  the  river  at  their  feet, 
Soon  to  become  his  winding  sheet. 


A    POEM.  11*7 

The  priests  a  mournful  requiem  chant, 

And  all  the  lifeless  chief  lament. 

The  last  sa<l  rites  to  him  they  pay, 

The  vessel  bears  his  corpse  away, 

When  cast  upon  the  stream,  like  lead, 

He  sinks  into  his  watery  bed. 

Where  two  imperial  rivers  meet, 

Their  rolling  floods  each  other  greet, 

Beneath  their  mingling  currents  deep 

De  Soto  sleeps  his  endless  sleep. 

No  monument  carved  with  his  name, 

Proclaims  his  deeds,  attests  his  fame. 

But  on  the  written  page  his  story, 

Engraven  deep,  transmits  his  glory, 

And  thus,  to  latest  time,  shall  run 

The  tale  of  what  by  him  was  done ; 

"  He  first  of  European  blood 

Beheld  the  Mississippi's  flood ; 

First  roamed  its  banks,  and  crossed  its  tide 

From  eastern  unto  western  side, 

And  first  beneath  its  turbid  wave, 

Befitting  tomb  of  one  so  brave 

Yet  unsuccessful,  found  a  grave," 


CANTO  V. 

They  tell  me  that  a  poet's  fire 

Has  not  to  me  been  given  ; 
That  I'm  a  creeping  worm  of  earth, 

Not  spirit  born  of  heaven. 
The  ostrich  only  sweeps  the  ground, 

Too  weak  of  wing  to  rise. 
The  eagle  soars  and  dwells  on  high, 

A  native  of  the  skies ; 
And  like  the  ostrich  I  must  be 

Contented  here  to  run, 
Nor  dare  like  eagle  in  his  flight 

To  gaze  upon  the  sun. 

They  tell  me  that  I  lack  the  power 

Possessed  by  bards  of  fame, 
To  give  to  airy  nothingness 

Existence  and  a  name; 
The  genius  that  conceives,  creates 

Whatever  thing  it  will, 
And  by  imagination  builds 

Immortal  works  of  skill : 
That  I  can  only  imitate, 

And  feeble  daubs  produce, 
Which  ne'er  can  rank  among  the  great 

Productions  of  the  muse. 


A    POEM.  119 

And  this  because  I  have  not  dwelt 

On  some  fictitious  theme, 
And  by  my  own  invention  wrought 

A  baseless,  empty  dream  ; 
But  in  the  field  of  sober  truth 

Have  rather  chose  to  rove, 
And  sing  of  warrior's  real  deeds, 

And  woman's  real  love  : 
To  cull  the  flowers  of  history, 

Of  Nature  and  of  Art, 
And  show  in  actual  characters 

The  workings  of  the  heart. 

"Well,  be  it  so  :  due  praise  I  give 

To  nightly  bards  sublime, 
The  echoes  of  whose  song  shall  live 

Until  the  close  of  time — 
The  Miltons  and  the  Homers, 

And  Shakspeare  all  alone, 
"Who  sits,  imperial  monarch  crowned, 

Unrivalled  on  his  throne  ; 
And  all  who  in  the  ideal  world 

Have  fashioned  works  of  fame, 
And  by  their  visions  bodied  forth 

Acquired  a  deathless  name. 

But  is  there  not  another  sphere 

For  exercise  of  art, 
In  which  aspiring  soul  may  seek 

To  act  a  poet's  part — 


120  A    POEM. 

The  broad  and  boundless  realm  of  fact, 

So  rich  in  wondrous  things, 
That  -while  we  roam  we  scarcely  feel 

The  need  of  Fancy's  wings — 
May  he  not  fitly  enter  here 

And  choosing  what  he  will, 
Adorn  it  with  a  minstrel's  dress, 

The  product  of  his  skill  ? 

Here  diamonds,  pearls  and  gold  are  found, 

And  precious  stones  most  rare, 
With  which  no  gems  of  human  mould 

Are  worthy  to  compare. 
So  man  and  nature  when  they  yield 

Their  highest  types  and  forms, 
Such  glorious  shapes  of  life  display 

They  shame  art's  duller  charms ; 
And  genius  moving  pencil,  pen, 

Though  bold,  cannot  excel 
The  perfect  handiwork  of  God, 

Nor  do  its  own  as  well. 

The  sun  to  me  is  brighter  far 

Than  any  globe  of  light, 
Which  man's  ingenious  hand  e'er  made 

To  dissipate  the  night; 
And  could  the  primal  Eden 

Before  our  vision  rise, 
'T would  far  surpass  the  loveliest 

Ideal  paradise ; — 


A    POEM.  121 

And  in  the  annals  of  the  past, 

I  read  of  things  more  strange 
Than  any  fictions  ever  wrought 

In  fancy's  wildest  range. 

Did  not  the  matchless  Hebrew  bards, 

With  fingers  free  and  bold, 
Sweep  o'er  the  harp  and  celebrate 

The  men  and  deeds  of  old? 
How  Moses  brought  their  fathers  forth 

From  hard  captivity, 
And  how,  by  Egypt's  host  pursued, 

He  led  them  through  the  sea ; 
The  story  of  their  wanderings, 

By  cloud  and  pillar  le<d, 
And  settlement  in  Holy  Land, 

With  God  himself  their  head. 

Thus  would  I  celebrate  the  deeds 

Of  him  so  daring,  brave, 
Who  first  a  band  of  settlers  led 

Across  the  Atlantic  wave, 
And  planted  on  this  western  shore 

A  lasting  colony, 
Which  spread  and  flourished  till  it  grew 

A  nation  great  and  free, 
That  stretches  now  from  North  to  South 

Through  many  a  wide  degree, 
Whose  territory  vast  extends 

From  cast  to  western  sea . 
6 


122  A    POEjr. 

Then  let  me  still  my  plan  pursue^ 

Uncramped  by  rigid  rules, 
So  prized  by  those  who  homage  yield 

To  dicta  of  the  schools. 
Indulgent  public,  do  not  frown, 

But  tolerate  my  layr 
And  grant  me  liberty  to  sing 

In  my  own  artless  way. 
The  theme  is  worthy  to  attractT 

Whate'er  may  be  the  rhyme, 
Few  better  e'er  engaged  the  Mus© 

In  all  preceding  time. 


Ealeigh,  to  whom  I  vain  would  pay 
Deserved  tribute  with  my  lay, 
Thou  art  example  fair  and  bright 
To  set  these  views  in  clearer  light. 
Not  Homer's,  Virgil's,  Shakspeare's  pen 
Has  sketched  diviner  forms  of  men, 
ISTor  placed  them  on  a  grander  stage, 
Nor  made  the  actors  strut  and  rage 
Amid  ideal  scenes  of  strife, 
With  greater  power,  effect,  and  life, 
Nor  hero  hurled  from  loftier  state, 
Nor  round  him  thrown  more  tragic  fate, 
Than  in  thy  manly  self  we  see, 
And  mournful  death  that  ended  thee. 
When  on  thy  age  we  fix  our  gaze, 
The  drama  acted  in  thy  days, 


A    POEM.  12 7 

And  by  the  grandeur  of  the  plan 
He  grew  a  graver,  firmer  man. 
The  youthful  knight  arrayed  in  arms, 
Dazzled  by  martial  deeds  and  charms, 
Ranging,  with  errant  steps,  afar 
The  sanguinary  fields  of  war, 
A  transformation  underwent, 
On  different,  nobler  ends  now  bent. 
To  found,  by  peaceful  toil,  a  state 
Appeared  to  him  more  truly  great, 
A  mightier  and  more  glorious  work 
Than  brightest  triumph  o'er  the  Turk. 
With  purpose  fixed  on  this  design, 
His  future  course  of  life  defined, 
Like  hunter  eager  for  the  chase, 
He  entered  on  his  chosen  race. 


Associated  in  a  band 

A  hundred  leave  their  native  land, 

To  go  and  found  a  colony 

In  desert  wilds  beyond  the  sea, 

An  ill-starred  company  they  pursued, 

By  low  and  jarring  passions  moved, 

And  scarcely  one  congenial  soul 

Our  hero  found  among  the  whole. 

Yes,  one  there  was,  like  gentle  dove, 

Breathing  the  spirit  mild  of  love, 

A  peaceful  man  of  God,  who  threw 

Sweet  oil  upon  the  raging  crew. 


128  A    POEM. 

And  by  his  counsel  stilled  the  storm 

"Whene'er  it  rose  presaging  harm. 

As  anciently  in  Noah's  ark, 

Religion  in  this  little  bark, 

Passed  from  the  old  world  to  the  new, 

With  guileless,  holy  ends  in  view, 

And  hither  came  to  consecrate 

Act  soon  as  born  the  infant  state. 

No  huge  leviathans  were  they, 

In  which  they  sought  to  make  their  way 

Across  the  wide-extended  deep, 

Braving  the  winds  that  rage  and  sweep 

In  fury  o'er  its  bosom  vast, 

Laughing  to  scorn  the  angry  blast, 

And  turning  not  in  fear  aside 

When  comes  the  storm-king  in  his  pride, 

As  if  t'  assert  his  sovereign  power 

O'er  ocean's  surface,  and  devour 

All  bold  disturbers  of  his  reign, 

Intruders  on  his  own  domain. 

Such  are  the  mammoth  keels  that  now 

The  watery  fields  in  triumph  plow, 

Moved  by  the  force  of  inward  fires, 

Whose  breath  the  bulky  mass  inspires, 

Which  proudly  walks,  a  thing  of  life, 

In  midst  of  elemental  strife, 

And  by  a  route  direct  and  short 

Runs  swiftly  to  her  destined  port. 

Compared  with  these,  as  eel  to  whale, 

Appeared  the  vessel  light  and  frail, 


A    POEM.  125 

But  in  the  midst  of  soft  repose, 

Others  to  thee  a  plan  propose, 

Which  sets  again  thy  soul  on  fire, 

And  makes  thee  burn  with  fresh  desire, 

As  breezes  languid  embers  blow, 

And  fan  them  to  a  living  glow. 

Beyond  the  broad  Atlantic's  Hood 

A  wilderness  unbounded  stood, 

A  vast,  but  useless  part  of  earth, 

A  desert  from  creation's  birth. 

Thither  would  they  themselves  transplant, 

Protected  by  their  monarch's  grant 

Of  title  to  that  virgin  soil, 

And  these  by  energy  and  toil 

The  wilds  of  nature  overcome, 

And  found  a  new,  enduring  home. 

A  solid  footing  being  gained, 

A  lodgment  firm,  secure  obtained, 

Others  would  follow  in  their  wake, 

Enlarge  the  settlement,  and  make 

An  ever-growing  colony 

Of  Englishmen  beyond  the  sea. 

Imagination — vision  fair, — 

Another  England  pictured  there, 

Their  native  island  reproduced, 

And  o'er  a  wider  space  diffused. 

There  should  a  commonwealth  arise, 

Fruitful  in  men,  and  rich  supplies 

Of  all  that  springs  from  fertile  soil, 

The  sure  reward  of  patient  toil, 


126  A    POEM. 

A  daughter  of  the  parent  State, 
Aiding  to  make  the  mother  great. 
A  gainful  commerce  thence  would  flow, 
And  Spain  and  France  receive  a  blow. 
Religion  and  the  arts  be  spread 
Where  only  savages  now  tread, 
And  English  men  and  laws  extend 
In  that  new  world  without  an  end. 
Like  ancient  seer,  in  strains  sublime. 
Foretelling  scenes  of  future  time, 
A  glowing  bard  with  rapture  sung 
The  progress  of  his  mother  tongue 
O'er  unknown  regions  of  the  West, 
Destined  in  future  to  be  blest 
With  all  the  treasures  she  possessed, 
And  saw  with  his  prophetic  eye, 
Beneath  the  occidental  sky, 
A  numerous  people,  great,  refined, 
Fond  of  the  culture  of  the  mind, 
Man's  nobler  nature  who  should  claim 
A  share  in  Bacon's,  Shakspeare's  fame. 
Such  were  the  motives  that  conspired 
To  move  our  hero's  heart,  and  fired 
His  breast  with  strong  determination 
To  undertake  their  new  plantation. 
His  spirit  leaped  with  exultation 
In  prospect  of  the  fair  creation 
That  rose  to  his  imagination. 
And  to  the  pleasing  scheme's  control 
He  yielded  unreserved  his  soul. 


A    POEM.  123 

Before  eur  eager,  wondering  eyes 
Kingdoms,  and  courts  and  camps  arise, 
With  monarchs  and  a  grand  array 
Of  gallant  men  and  ladies  gay, 
Accomplished  courtiers,  warriors  brave, 
Distinguished  authors,  statesmen  grave, 
Essex,  Burleigh,  Verulam's  Lord, 
And  Avon's  swan,  immortal  bard, 
With  others  not  unknown  to  fame, 
Who  gained  by  wit  or  arms  a  name. 
'Mid  all,  the  central  figure  seen, 
Appears  the  stately,  virgin  Queen, 
Succeeded  by  a  royal  thing 
That  scarce  deserved  the  name  of  king. 
Endowed  with  largo,  courageous  heart, 
Well  didst  thou  play,  sustain  thy  part. 
Courtier,  and  statesmen,  warrior  thou, 
With  wrea'hs  of  glory  on  their  brow, 
Erom  many  a  sphere  of  action  won 
In  that  long  race  which  thou  didst  run. 
Gay  seemed  thy  youth  as  vernal  morn, 
When  flowers  to  sun  and  earth  are  born 4 
Sober  and  bright  thy  manhood's  years, 
As  summer  in  his  garb  appears; 
Like  autumn's,  were  thy  fruits  of  age, 
'Tragic  thy  exit  from  the  stage. 
Yet  didst  thou  leave  a  brilliant  name, 
And  unto  us  belongs  tliy  fame. 
For,  bol  I  si  spirit  pf  thy  y];\y, 
Thy  daring  jouI  (irsi  led  th< 


124  A    POEM. 

In  the  heroic  enterprise, 
This  land  of  ours  to  colonize 
With  emigrants  of  English  stock — 
They  only-  rceompense  the  block! 
Bat  doomed  thyself  to  such  a  fater 
Immortal  honors  thee  await. 
Not  only  sh-aTil  a  sovereign  State 
Thy  memory  perpetuate, 
Her  capital  transmit  thy  fame — 
Long  as  she  glories  in  thy  name, 
But  on  the  bright,  historic  page 
Thy  deeds  shall  live  from  age  to  age,. 
And  millions  of  a  mighty  nation 
Shall  think,  of  thee  with  admiration^ 
For  what  thou  didst  endeavor  herer 
Brave,  unsuccessful  pioneer ! 
And  now  we  come  again  to  him 
Whom  none  eclipse  or  render  dim, 
The  chosen  hero  of  my  song, 
Left  out  of  view  perlmps  too  long. 
Unrivalled  Smith,  thou  king  of  men,, 
Again  give  impulse  to  my  pen, 
And  as  it  acts  with  movement  free, 
May  it  do  justice  unto  thee  I 

Thy  Turkish  wars,  thy  travels  o'er, 
And  landed  on  thy  native  shore,. 
Like  absent  ship  returned,  at  restr 
No  longer  tossed  on  ocean's  breast,. 
Thou  didst  in  care  and  quiet  layr 
And  pass  some  months  or  years  away. 


A    POEM. 

Well-chosen  was  the  site,  and  here- 
upon a  day,  and  in  a  year 
I  need  not  name,  except  to  say 
'Twas  in  the  pleasant  month  of  Mayr 
Was  laid  the  lasting,  trne  foundation 
Of  this  now  great  and  powerful  nation. 
What  memories,  Jamestown,  to  thee  cleave  I 
How  musing  fancy  loves  to  weave 
With  threads  of  thy  eventful  storyy 
A  pi-cture  of  thy  scenes  and  glory. 
Here  first  the  Anglo-Saxon  trod, 
No  more  to  leave  this  western  sod. 
Here  first  our  country's  tree  took  root 
Since  laden  with  such  precious  fruit, 
Whose  spreading  branches  far  extending 
With  rich  abundance  still  are  bending. 
Here  first — a  wilderness  unbounded — 
The  forest  with  the  axe  resounded, 
The  echoes  of  whose  stroke  ne'er  ceased, 
But  still  from  year  to  year  increased. 
Extending  o'er  a  wider  space, 
Dread  omen  to  the  native  racer 
The  symbol  of  advancing  power, 
Which  should  their  own  weak  tribes  devour. 
Or  from  their  ancient  seats  expel, 
The  hunting  grounds  they  loved  so  well. 
Here  first  the  genius  bold  of  Art, 
Began  to  play  his  skilful  part, 
Invade  the  desert  solitude, 
And  by  the  wigwam  lowly,  rude, 


134  A  POEM- 

Erect  a  nobler  habitation, 
lleduce  the  soil  to  cultivation, 
And  in  a  thousand  different  fomis, 
Adorn  the  land  with  culture's  charms. 
.   But  silent,  lonely,  wasted,  thau 
Art  but  a  wreck  and  ruin  now. 
And  yet  the  fragments  of  thy  form 
That  still  remain,  possess  a  charm, 
A  deep  attraction  to  the  heart, 
And  cause  perchance  a  tear  to  start. 
What  voiceless  eloquence  proceeds 
E'en  from  thy  ivy,  brambles,  needs! 
The  mouldering  tower,  the  crumbling  tomb 
The  distant,  buried  past  relume, 
And  back  the  pensive  thoughts  convoy 
To  scenes  and  actors  of  a  day, 
When  pious  worshippers  here  prayed, 
And  heroes  in  the  grave  were  laid, 
Here  Gosnold  sleeps,  adventurous,  brave, 
A  lover  of  the  ocean  wave, 
And  many  a  time  he  crossed  the  sea, 
Then  found  his  resting  place  in  thee. 
Her  Smith  his  courage,  skill  displayed, 
And  Pocahontas  sportive  played 
In  girlish  innocence  and  glee, 
A  maiden  with  affections  free, 
Till  captured  by  Love's  silken  hand, 
To  Rolfo  she  gave  her  heart  and  hand. 
Then  in  the  temple  by  his  side 
She  stood  a  blooming,  lovely  bride, 


A    POE.AI.  131 

They  drive  before  the  furious  blast, 

Uncertain  whither,  till  at  last, 

To  their  exceeding  joy,  surprise, 

Their  destined  haven  greets  their  eyes. 

Entering  this,  on  either  hand 

Appears  a  cape  or  head  of  land, 

To  each  of  which  they  give  a  name, 

That  still  perpetuates  the  fame 

Of  James'  first  born,  and  his  brother, 

They  called  one  Henry,  Charles  the  other: 

A  group  of  little  isles  that  lay 

Before  the  entrance  of  the  bay, 

Received  our  hero's  holy  name, 

The  sole  memorial  of  his  fame, 

The  only  portion  of  our  land, 

So  broad,  majestic,  lovely,  grand, 

This  splendid  empire  of  the  West, 

On  which  its  founder's  name  impressed. 

No  matter:  he  but  shared  the  fate 

Of  one  still  more  renowned  and  great, 

Discoverer  of  the  hemisphere, 

Deprived  of  his  just  honors  here. 

But  both,  what  no  mere  name  can  give — 

In  their  immortal  deeds  still  live, 

And  in  the  fruits  of  their  stern  toil 

That  flourished  on  this  western  soil. 


Advancing  inward  on  their  way, 
Their  vessel  boldly  plows  the  buy, 


132  a  toem. 

The  broad  majestic  Chesapeake, 
Whose  praise  I  strive  in  vain  to  speak. 
Discovering  soon  a  river  wide, 
Which  flowed  into  its  western  side, 
Its  mouth  they  enter,  anchor  cast, 
And  hoping,  they  had  found  at  last, 
Like  Noah's  dove,  a  refuge  sweet, 
A  place  to  rest  their  weary  feet, 
That  all  their  wanderings  were  o'er, 
They  land  upon  the  northern  shore. 
And  to  express  their  peace  and  joy, 
A  term  significant  employ, 
And  give  it  to  that  narrow  spot — 
"Point  Comfort,"  was  the  name  it  got. 
But  this  an  unfit  place  they  deem, 
And  thence  proceeding  up  the  stream, 
Which,  by  consent,  their  leader  names, 
In  honor  of  their  sovereign,  James, 
They  seek  another,  better  ground, 
On  which  their  colony  to  found. 
At  length  they  reach  a  goodly  spot, 
And  here  resolve  to  cast  their  lot. 
It  was  a  jutting  point  of  land, 
Round  which,  on  nearly  every  hand, 
The  current  of  the  river  swept, 
Forming  a  liquid  wall  that  kept 
The  neighboring  savages  at  bay, 
And  left  them  but  a  single  way 
Of  access  to  their  little  band, 
A  narrow  strip  of  solid  land. 


A   POEM.  129 

In  which  that  first,  adventurous  band 
Departed  from  their  native  land. 
Nor  did  their  captain,  void  of  fear, 
Straight  for  the  western  regions  stir, 
But  what  was  deemed  a  safer  way, 
And  more  familiar  at  that  day, 
Pursued  the  course  that  southward  lay. 
Proceeding  o'er  the  broad,  blue  main, 
Those  famous  isles  ere  long  they  gain, 
The  happy  fields  of  ancient  song, 
Where  blessed  spirits  should  prolong 
Through  endless  years  this  life  and  breath, 
Transported  thither  after  death, 
"While  mighty  heroes  dear  to  Jove, 
The  special  objects  of  his  love, 
Were  favored  with  passage  there, 
And  pleasures  of  those  regions  fair, 
Endowed  with  immortality, 
Without  the  pains  of  those  that  die. 
All  joys  were  there  ecstatic  deemed, 
Beyond  whatever  mortals  dreamed. 
Strangers  to  wintry  storms  and  cold, 
Ne'er  sick,  infirm,  nor  helpless,  old, 
Bathing  in  floods  of  genial  light, 
All  objects  charming  to  the  sight, 
The  happy  dwellers  sipped  delight 
From  every  cup  in  that  fair  clime, 
Unmixed  with  ills  and  woes  of  time. 
There  gentle  zephyrs  ever  blew, 
Eternal  verdure  met  the  view. 


130  A    POEM. 

Fruits  sprung  spontaneous  from  the  soil, 
In  rich  profusion,  without  toil. 
Refreshing  fountains,  groves,  and  bowers, 
All  bright,  and  lovely,  fragrant  flowers, 
And  fertile  meadows  ever-green, 
Added  enchantment  to  the  scene. 
Birds  sweetly  warbled  from  the  trees, 
All  things  were  fitted  but  to  please, 
And  life  was  passed  in  softest  ease. 
But  no  Elysium,  bright  and  fair, 
Our  hero  found  or  tasted  there. 
For  envious  of  his  worth  and  fame, 
His  comrades  sought  to  blast  his  name, 
And  charging  him  wTith  foul  design, 
A  deed  abhorrent  to  his  mind, 
To  murder  those  in  chief  command, 
And  rule  the  sovereign  of  the  land 
Whose  settlement  they  had  in  view, 
Into  confinement  him  they  threw. 
And  thus  a  prisoner  in  chains 
On  board  the  vessel  he  remains, 
Until  Virginia's  coast  it  gains. 
But  long  and  tedious  were  the  tale, 
To  tell  the  route  by  which  they  sail, 
And  various  scenes  of  wonderment 
On  which  their  eager  eyes  are  bent, 
While  stopping  to  recruit  and  rest 
Amid  the  Indies  of  the  West. 
Again  they  start,  and  northward  sail, 
When,  overtaken  by  a  gale, 


A   POEM.  135 

And  there  the  flower  of  savage  life, 
Became  the  youthful  Briton's  wife. 
Here  first  the  Gospel's  sound  she  heard, 
And  bowed  before  the  living  Lord, 
And  in  the  Saviour's  name  believed, 
And  here  baptismal  rites  received, 
The  holy  first  fruits  of  her  race 
Redeemed  to  God  by  sovereign  grace. 
Here  in  the  tempest  of  debate, 
While  rocked  th'  unsettled  ship  of  State, 
Mid  scenes  of  legislative  strife, 
Benignant  Freedom  sprung  to  life, 
Destined  to  fill  this  vast  domain 
"With  blessings  of  her  happy  reign. 
Thy  ruins  are  thy  monument, 
Nor  could  a  shaft  more  eloquent 
Above  thee  rise,  to  tell  thy  story, 
Thy  downfall  was  thy  brightest  glory. 
Not  by  a  course  of  slow  decay 
Didst  thou  decline,  and  pass  away. 
Not  from  a  wrathful  foreign  foe 
Didst  thou  receive  thy  fatal  blow. 
Nor  did  a  vengeful  savage  band, 
Primeval  owners  of  the  land, 
Within  thee  hurl  consuming  brand. 
Thy  own  brave  sons,  in  Freedom's  name, 
Enwrapped  thy  tenements  in  flame, 
A  sacrifice  they  offered  thee 
To  Justice,  Right,  and  Liberty. 


